The Road Less Traveled
by yadon
Summary: Simon is granted permission to attend the funeral of his stepmother, which happens to be held a 12-hour journey's east of L.A., with none other than Fool Bright as his transporter. But their trip takes a wild turn, throwing them into the midst of an entirely different and altogether more sinister ordeal. [Established Blackbright; M for sex, sexual abuse/violence re: minors]
1. Chapter 1

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Sir."

Now what was Fool Bright blathering on about? "Fool Bright, if you're referring to the last thread of sanity I possessed, which _your_ presence has so cleanly snipped, your condolences are long past acceptably due."

"Sir, don't play dumb with me. You know I'm talking about your stepmother!" Fool Bright clung to the bars separating him and Simon, pushing as close he could, as though he were trying to escape _into_ Simon's cell. "I'm sorry to hear she passed at such a young age. There's no bigger injustice in the world than the incurable blight known as cancer."

"Hmph." Simon remained expressionless, save for the tic of annoyance in his voice that Fool Bright would choose to dwell on this topic for longer than Simon himself mentally had. "Although I never did wish for her to meet such a early and likely painful end, I can not say I'm experiencing any grief at the thought of never seeing or talking to her again. That chapter of my life is behind me, and she was never even an integral part of it to begin with."

"...That's not what I heard from Ms. Blackquill – your sister – when she left from visiting you the other day! She said you would be devastated if you were unable to attend your stepmother's funeral this weekend."

"And you _believed_ her?!" Curse Aura! Why was she so meddlesome, and seemingly even more so when she knew how much it would irritate Simon? Well, he supposed she would not be much of an older sister if she were not. "Fool Bright, did it not occur to you she was merely using that as a ploy to attempt to spring me from here, if only momentarily?"

"Oh... Well! I didn't know, honestly!"

And Fool Bright wouldn't, seeing as how Simon rarely, if ever, brought up either of his parents, other than their names and that they had divorced when he was still a small child. Fool Bright intuitively understood how much Simon cared for Aura despite their differences, and Simon barely discussed her, either. This deception from Aura was hardly anything Simon could blame Fool Bright – or anyone other than Aura herself – for.

"Consider yourself informed, and find a way to relay to Aura that there is absolutely no feasible way I could attend."

"I already..." Fool Bright dropped his head, causing his words to become slightly muffled. "I already put in the request to grant you permission to attend, and... and it wasn't easy, but I... I _did_ get you it. You've been on such good behavior since... since we've... well, anyway, I told them it's kind of an extenuating circumstance and -"

"And nothing, Fool Bright, I'm not-"

"Sir!" Fool Bright met Simon's gaze again, his voice becoming sharper. "I'm taking time off to do this for you; it's the only way they agreed! They're not going to _pay_ me for this. It'd be different if the funeral were a quick drive down the road, but it's twelve hours away, in Albuquerque!"

"You think I don't know that?" Shortly after his conviction, his dad and stepmother had fled to New Mexico, where his stepmother was originally from. Doing their best to avoid all the media coverage of their bloodthirsty sociopath of a son. "And what do you mean, you're 'taking time off', what on earth does that -"

"Well, obviously... I would take you, in my squad car." Fool Bright smiled in a most uncharacteristic manner, not huge and beaming but more of a mild, subdued happiness. A contented child. "We'll leave tomorrow, around noon. If we allow time for breaks, we would get there with a couple hours to spare before the funeral on Saturday! And we'd leave right afterwards, I had to promise to that, too."

"Dammit, you could have consulted me first, Fool Bright!" Who did Fool Bright think he was, going so much out of his way to see to it that Simon was treated so _especially_ like a person and not the felon that the legal system had declared he was? That _he_ had declared he was.

It was something one did for someone they - dare Simon think it? – cared about as a person. Even with them having forged a relationship that was, in fact, rather deeply personal, Simon still had a difficult time believing he was little more than an assignment, a _task_ , to keep Fool Bright occupied.

But he now sometimes wondered if he was the only one who thought – had _ever_ thought – that.

"Sorry, Sir, but I'm just doing what's best for you. Even if you don't want to go to the funeral, I think it's just... really important you start to acclimate yourself back to the... the real world. For when you're released. I didn't think you'd say 'no' to that opportunity."

" _If_ I'm released, Fool Bright."

"For _when_ you're released, Sir." Fool Bright repeated, a gentle kindness outweighing the enthusiasm present through most of their conversation. "Would it really be that bad?"

Simon looked beyond Fool Bright – they were alone as could be – and drew his right hand up to curl it around the same bar as Fool Bright's left. His thumb grazed in slow, lazy circles over the soft cloth covering Fool Bright's knuckles.

"I suppose that no, ultimately there are far worse ways to while away a weekend." What Simon held back was that, try as he might to rack his brain for anything _better_ than to waste nearly two days accompanied by both freedom and his Fool Bright, he could not.

Being ready to die was not entirely exclusive of still, sometimes, wanting to very much _live_.

* * *

Fool Bright's unamused stare met Simon's smirking one via the rear view mirror.

"Fool Bright, I believe I asked you a question, and I would like for you to -"

"Sir! You know perfectly well as I do that we are not 'there yet'." Currently, they were several blocks from the prison, caught in the crush of L.A. traffic that never seemed to wane. "Now, please, we can talk if you'd like but I can't have you distracting me on purpose. I have a perfect driving record, and I can't even begin to guess the kind of trouble I'd get into if I received any kind of infraction while transporting a prisoner!"

Oh, Fool Bright. He'd certainly never protested any of the ways Simon attempted to distract him when they were alone together in the past.

"Hmph, and then how do you suggest I pass the next twelve hours, without _you_ as an option for my entertainment?"

"Well, I'm going to listen to these audiobooks I brought along, so you can listen too if you want." He fiddled with a thin cord plugged into his radio, attached to a small audio device. "Do you know the Ryan Jackson series, by Clancy Thomas? Ah, it's one of my favorites and I've been meaning to catch up, and now's the perfect chance."

Now it was Simon's turn to appear unamused. "Fool Bright, I have not exactly a large selection of novels at my disposal, in the prison."

"Oh... yeah, I guess not, but I could always find more if you really wanted some. Though I guess you more like those... what's it called, _Ranuto_? And _Sailor Scouts_ , and – well, all those comics I find stashed under your pillow. Maybe Ryan Jackson wouldn't really be your thing."

Dammit, Simon tried his best to hide the manga Aura mailed him every so often, but there weren't exactly many places in which to do so. It didn't help that Fool Bright had become so intimately familiar with his cell, either.

"Silence! None of this is pertinent to our trip. Forget I asked, I shall merely enjoy the scenery."

"Oh, sure it is. Pertinent, I mean. I put some of those comics in that backpack there!" He reached back to wave towards the backpack resting on the floor. "Only a couple, but I think they're new ones; they're the ones Ms. Blackquill brought in when she came to visit you about your stepmom. I thought it'd be a nice surprise to wait until... well, now, to give them to you."

Sure enough, when Simon unzipped the backpack, he found a stash of mint-condition manga issues. Inside the cover of the latest Sailor Scouts was a post-it note with distinct slanted cursive.

 _"Have fun with the only girlfriends you'll ever get, you fucking weeb. - Aura"_

A wisp of a smile curled Simon's lips. Ever since his sentence, he hadn't been one to follow through any of Aura's demands but this... well, he could oblige.

"There's some snacks in there too, Sir. I hope you like licorice... I think it's one of the best travel foods there is! I got the red and the black kinds."

"I see that." Simon ripped open a bag of the black licorice; how Fool Bright could have guessed his preference for it, he didn't know. Likely, it was the case that Fool Bright favored the red, and Simon's tastes always seemed to oppose his, leading Fool Bright to the correct supposition.

Simon settled further down into the seat, shifting around a bit that the lime green travel pillow Fool Bright had provided him with was cushy and comfortable around his neck. He wedged the bag of licorice into the crook of his bent arm, pulled a string out, and opened to the first page of _Sailor Scouts_.

He couldn't recall the last time he didn't read an issue of _Sailor Scouts_ entirely in one sitting, but this would likely be the first. For all Fool Bright had chided Simon about him not becoming a distraction, Simon was the one very much distracted.

He kept lifting his head to glance out the window, and every time his breath would still. Had it always looked like this, the _outside_? It wasn't as if he hadn't _ever_ been outside of the prison walls in the past six years, not with all the hearings and evaluations he needed to be transported to. But ultimately it was all part of one extensive cage, a labyrinth with no exits and only dead ends. Simon could not put his arms out without feeling the weight of his shackles, without the knowledge his fingers would only come to land on iron bars regardless of what direction he reached towards.

But here, in the confines of the backseat of Fool Bright's squad car, he felt freer than... than he rightly should, as a death row inmate. Was this what Fool Bright had meant, slowly introducing Simon back into the "real world"? Because Simon knew that (it wouldn't happen, but theoretically speaking) if he _were_ to one day be led out of prison alive and not in a wooden box, it would bring him to his knees.

Everything caught his attention, every last minuscule detail in the small frame he was viewing it from. The city sky, beautiful even with the skyscrapers and smog intruding upon it, even more stunning as the grey dissipated to a lucid blue. The buildings that soon became majestic trees, and the rainbow of flora that he couldn't discern as they sped by.

And sometimes, when he needed the briefest recess from the scenery around him, he'd glance towards the rear view mirror. And Fool Bright, even with being so diligently determined to remain focused on the road ahead, would always glance back.

* * *

The last thing Simon remembered was Fool Bright asking him if he wanted anything when they stopped to refill for gas. When he opened his eyes again, they were pulling into a lot amid a cluster of fast food restaurants.

"Oh great, you're awake, Sir!"

Simon straightened in the backseat, mumbling unintelligibly as he did. Had he really been asleep? The steady lull of Fool Bright having consistently gone the speed limit combined with the warmth of the afternoon sun blanketing him through the window must have led him straight into Hypnos's clutches.

"This is perfect, I just got to the end of a chapter." Fool Bright unbuckled his seatbelt, turned in his seat the best he could to address Simon. "Whaddya say to lunch?"

"Already?" Simon's mouth was sticky (likely the entire bag of licorice he'd consumed) and his stomach heavy (again, the licorice). What he would say to lunch was a vehement 'no'.

But – he watched Fool Bright gather up the manacles and exit the front – it wasn't really his decision, when it came down to it all.

"'Already'?" Fool Bright folded the driver's seat down to give Simon access, but Simon didn't budge. "It's been four hours! We're almost to Arizona. Now, c'mon, let's get a quick bite to eat."

"I..." He couldn't take his eyes off the heavy iron shackles. "Is it necessary to bind me in those for, as you say, a 'quick bite'?"

"Well, to be honest, Sir, since I'm not on department time I don't have to comply to _every_ single rule. For instance, you should have been cuffed the entire ride, but I thought... well, I am trying to get you used to being back... here. But I _have_ to when we're out among the public, you know that. It's always been like that." Fool Bright paused, likely having realized Simon was the last person he needed to point that out to. "But it won't always be, okay? So just... come on."

"I'd much prefer if we kept going, Fool Bright. Even though I haven't been out amongst civilization in years, I can still assure you that we will approach another one of these swill-shilling huts some time in the near future."

"Of course we will, Sir, but that one will have people too! So let's just get it over with? Hey, we could always eat outside here, on the patio." He threw the manacles over his shoulder so he could wave towards the art-deco design tables and benches surrounding the front portion of the restaurant. The chains jangled harshly, offsetting his friendly tone. "It's such a nice day. And that way, no one would really notice your um... situation. It'd be... just the two of us, sort of."

Simon ignored responding to the final sentence, and _tried_ to ignore the way it swam so warmly into his ears, down inside him and spreading everywhere. "Fool Bright, you are driving a police cruiser. They will _somewhat_ notice. I'm not hungry, either, I-"

"Sir, you _always_ say that, and I know it's not-"

Simon balled up the empty licorice bag and tossed it at Fool Bright. It binked off his chest and fell to the ground.

"Sir!" Fool Bright snatched it up and stuffed it into his pocket, as incredulous as he'd been insistent upon lunch. "That was supposed to last us the whole trip – and back!"

"I thought you were the one who urged that I eat more."

"Not an entire bag of licorice! That's... you know what?!"

Simon didn't have time to answer, because his arms were grabbed and he was yanked forward, finding himself awkwardly twisted that he were laying halfway out of the cruiser, legs bent up on the driver's seat, back on the pavement. In the time it took him to establish his bearings, his wrists had already been seized in metal.

Even upside-down, he had a perfect view of the fact that they were being _watched_ – by families, children, _everyone_ passing by. The flashbacks resurfacing in his mind were sickeningly unpleasant in how vivid they were, even years later. How he had always been _looked at,_ by family, by classmates, by complete strangers; by the courts, and not without judgment. _Never_ without judgment.

Except by the two people he'd proudly sacrificed his freedom for, and the grinning face hovering over him.

"I despise you, Fool Bright," Simon growled.

"That's great, Sir!" Simon was hauled to his feet, and he caught the beginning of a smirk as Fool Bright placed his hand firmly on Simon's lower back to usher him towards the patio tables. "You can keep on despising me over lunch!"

* * *

Despite his insistence earlier, Fool Bright seemed content to allow Simon only a large beverage (unsweetened iced tea, of course; nothing sugary after his licorice binge), while he occupied himself with a cheeseburger and fries.

And Simon, for all his protesting, found the intermittent glances in their direction bearable compared to being able to stretch his legs out. To breathing in air that was dry, but naturally so and not just recycled perpetually through dusty pipes and vents.

To viewing the whole of the sky above and before them, cloudless and spectacular and dotted with the occasional string of birds. Simon could have easily envied their position – their freedom – but he only felt the sheerest sense of joy being able to simply _watch_ them fly, so untouched by any cares or troubles.

Fool Bright didn't try to make conversation either, which Simon didn't find outstandingly strange, if only because Fool Bright seemed, this entire time, determined to remain solemn due to the whole catalyst for them being on this journey in the first place. Simon was certain that, in Fool Bright's mind, he was giving Simon the space one would typically require if attempting to grapple with the loss of a parent or guardian.

Simon pressed in all the little bubbles on the lid of his iced tea designating what sort of drink it was, and was met with no opposition from Fool Bright as he took his soda and did the same.

"You're enjoying yourself, Sir?"

Simon passed Fool Bright's soda back to him. "Hmph. I am just idling away the time until you finish."

"I'm just about done, we can get going in a few! ...If you're ready to, of course. We're making pretty good time, so I'm not in a hurry."

Simon kept his head down as he sipped his iced tea and avoided Fool Bright's gaze, one he knew was honed on him with only the utmost fondness and... and _affection_. He'd been exposed to it numerous times but had still not grown accustomed to it, how intense it was, imprinting on his being even more than the welts his shackles had permanently created around his wrists.

"Fool Bright, I... you were correct when you said it was a nice day, and so..." Another slurp of tea, this one loud and signifying he was reaching the bottom of the cup. " I.. I am glad we ate outside. You and I."

"Well, I'm glad that you're glad! See, I knew it'd be good to ease you back into... all this. It can really go a long way into how..." He paused thoughtfully. "You know, sometimes it's easy to lose sight of just how possible a positive outcome can be, when no one's around to remind you."

"Yes, I..." Simon turned his head, continuing to force out every last drop of iced tea through his straw, and was met with a curious sight.

A flock of pigeons had congregated in the lot fairly close to Fool Bright's car, around a baggie of onion rings some miscreant had been too lazy to bother walking ten feet to dispose of in the nearest trash receptacle.

"Fool Bright, wait a moment." From Fool Bright's tray, Simon took the little wrapper of fries, which had no more than a dozen left. He tore a few of them into smaller pieces, then rose from his seat to slowly approach the gaggle of pigeons.

"Uh... Sir? You might not want to-"

"Fool Bright..." Warning edged Simon's voice, and he scattered some of the bits towards the pigeons. He really had no inkling as to why Fool Bright should care about this.

"Sir, you really shouldn't-"

"Silence, Fool Bright." He inched closer, lightly underhanded another smattering of fry bits at the birds. "What, have you suddenly been possessed by the spirit of my departed stepmother? For you sound exactly like her. 'Don't feed the pigeons, Simon, they're nothing but vermin with wings!'"

Fool Bright too had left his seat at the table, and was now standing a few feet to Simon's side, leaning back against the trunk of his cruiser. "Oh, Sir, I wasn't going to say that at all. You shouldn't feed them, but because it could make them sick. You should know that."

He did know that, very well, but the poor creatures... them gorging themselves on greasy orts thrown aside was different than being _given_ one or two by a generous hand. They were scum that most would gladly see eradicated from this earth, and Simon had felt a kinship with them even before his conviction, before adopting his label as the scourge known as the Twisted Samurai. He could never see why they were considered such a nuisance, other than that was just what was commonly bandied about amongst society. Much like he, himself, hadn't any understanding of what made him such a wretched, unlovable thing, except for that was what he had been constantly treated as, through all the verbal and physical abuse from his peers.

And through the explicit disinterest, from... well, he'd already brought her up; it seemed a fitting segue.

"My stepmother..." How should he phrase this? He did not want to speak poorly of her, as she was not evil or even _bad_ in any sense. Just someone Simon paid very little mind to, or she, him. "Well, let me just say that it is quite _odd_ to refer to her by that title. To Aura and myself, she has always simply been our father's second wife. There is nothing remotely 'motherly' about the relationship she had with us."

Fool Bright remained quiet, which Simon took as a symbol of surprise – that Simon was actually speaking about his stepmother, and not, exactly, what he was divulging.

"Aura was a teenager when Carmen – that's my stepmother – and my father married. And if you can believe it, Aura could be even more abrasive at times than she is now. She did not get along with most people because of that; our stepmother was not a special case. I, on the other hand..."

"You were just a kid."

"Well, _yes_ , but... more than that, I... I missed my mother dearly; I was not able to adjust to life without her the way Aura did. I didn't see her much after the divorce, and had no interest in this veritable stranger fulfilling that role. You see, my mother – she did not speak fluent English, nor did she have a full-time job – the courts sided heavily with my father. After my father remarried, she moved back to Japan, and I... I haven't seen her since."

When he glanced over from the pigeons, it appeared that Fool Bright was attentively hanging on his every word. Was this a professional or personal interest? Simon wasn't sure which would be the better option.

"I think the divorce just destroyed her mentally and emotionally, to the point she couldn't even... bear to hold on to _anything_ that had come from the marriage, lest she tear herself apart further. It was devastating to behold what little I did. You know, now that I think about it, I don't even know if she's aware of..." Simon raised his chained arms. "Nor do I wish for her to be."

"Pardon my saying so, Sir, but it sounds like quite a delicate situation, and I'm sure your stepmother didn't think she'd replace your... your mother." Fool Bright had straightened from his previous position and was now standing alongside Simon. "She must have cared about you and Ms. Blackquill in her own way. Would she have really married your father if she didn't?"

"Yes, I... yes, in her own way." And he wasn't saying that to appease Fool Bright. It was very much the truth. She'd never been _cruel_ with Simon the way classmates or even Aura could sometimes be; that would involve her having connected with Simon in the first place.

"But I think with Aura being so disagreeable and myself so fiercely clinging to the interest in my mother's culture and heritage – Carmen took that as a slight, and didn't even want to _try_ becoming... close to us. Now that I look back on it, I can understand; she was young, what one would consider a 'career woman', and ill-prepared to take on two children of completely separate ages and temperaments, even if she did _care_. There was no animosity between us, Fool Bright; there was only _nothing_ at all."

"Hm... but some people aren't meant to be parents, Sir." Fool Bright sounded less like he was speaking to Simon and more reciting a fact. "At least she realized that and didn't... exacerbate what surely was already difficult for everyone involved!"

"You have a very valid point, there." The pigeons had grown bored of the onion rings, and seeing as how Simon had ceased providing them with fries, flapped away in a misshapen gray cloud. "Also... you seem quite... resolute in that statement. About parental instincts and abilities."

"Well, I _am_ an officer, Sir! I've witnessed a great many injustices during my time on the force. Sadly, even those committed by unfit parents upon their own helpless children!"

Simon didn't respond; Fool Bright's words were undoubtedly true, but at the same time strangely... vague. This was normally the part where Fool Bright would launch into one of his many yarns about all the justice he served to assist these woebegone children, preventing them from falling through the cracks and into a life that only perpetuated the unfortunate existences they were bred into.

But since Fool Bright wasn't elaborating, Simon decided this was simply a continuation of being given the opportunity to speak so openly. That it were less of a conversation and more of an airing of whatever grievances weighed on him concerning his late stepmother.

"You understand, Fool Bright, that I'm not trying to besmirch her name. Carmen _did_ make my father happy where my mother did not. I am not saying she didn't, and for that, I am regretful she is no longer of this world." He wasn't going to broach the whole different topic, of how little his opinions now, as a convicted murderer, meant to his father. "But we've no attachment to her and I'm certain Aura's only attending the funeral in order to see if _I'm_ present, and rail against the system if I'm not. There's no other explanation as to why she would inform you of Carmen's passing."

And there they were, come full-circle, back to the beginning. To what Simon had initially told Fool Bright, except this time, he could truly, deeply exhale after all of it, knowing that he would not have to speak of it again. Fool Bright was constantly prodding him to let others in by sharing bits about himself, and Simon made no bones about viewing it as an exercise in futility – he was a criminal; what else did he have to share?

But he found, it was more the _act_ of speaking openly – much like how he'd grown close to Cykes-sama – that was most beneficial, not specifically _what_ was shared.

One could also argue it was with _whom_ he was confiding, that chiseled away the wall of distrust he'd so carefully constructed. Since when had it not been anything other than petrifying to think of another person involved so innately in his well-being? And while it was, yes, terrifying on some levels, how overpowering this unnameable _thing_ he felt towards Fool Bright was, that he could some days feel very human because of it was worth the fear.

"I really appreciate you sharing all that with me," Fool Bright said as he unlocked Simon's cuffs and set them aside on the passenger's seat.

Simon avoided looking at Fool Bright by way of climbing into the backseat and settling in. "Think nothing of it. Although, you would have discovered much of what I told you, had you bothered to dig around my files and reports deep enough."

"Sir, not everything can be found in a file."

"Hmph, I was only preparing you for the dysfunction that is sure to abound tomorrow morning." Simon cracked open _Sailor Scouts_ , and heard the dull drone of Fool Bright's audiobook starting back up. However, he still had one last word to get in edgewise, and stared down Fool Bright via the rear view mirror. "Justice, as you've reminded me so often, can never be too prepared. Is that right?"

Fool Bright now had his sunglasses on, that Simon couldn't quite read the look in his eyes. But he guessed it was filled with the soft kindness it had been all afternoon. "If you say so, Sir."


	2. Chapter 2

According to Fool Bright, they had just entered Arizona. Simon, however, had entered a special layer of Hell.

Every issue of _Sailor Scouts_ contained some sort of high-stakes battle, wherein Simon's favorite crew of celestial warriors fought tooth and nail to ensure justice (of galactic proportions) prevailed.

And more often then not, these left Simon on the edge of his proverbial seat, racing to the final page as he was rendered into a tension-filled silence until the Sailor Scouts, inevitably (although it didn't always seem that way), reigned victorious.

But right now, the ever-present lurching inside him had nothing to do with Sailor Triton's pursuit of rescuing her beloved Sailor Ouranos from the nefarious Prince Malefic. Over and over he found himself staring at the same page, trying to digest what was happening, but failing woefully, the smallest bump in the uneven road causing his stomach to tumble any which way it saw fit.

Simon closed the manga, unable to look at one more panel without his vision blurring or his stomach churning. He stowed it in his backpack, zipping it up. Just in case.

"Fool Bright, when..." Another jarring bump stalled him. "...When do you propose we will make our next rest stop?"

"Sir, I told you to use the facilities when we stopped for lunch."

"Silence! That is not what I meant." Simon wasn't even feeling well enough to bother scowling. "Just give me your best estimate."

"I did see a sign about ten minutes ago, saying the next rest station is about thirty miles from there."

"I..." Simon hesitated, closing his eyes for a moment, to block out the motion streaming around him from all sides. But it wasn't helping; all it did was make him aware of every accursed jerk as the cruiser continued to motor down the highway.

He was not going to persevere through thirty more miles of this. In fact – his throat tightened – he did not think he could tolerate another thirty seconds.

"Fool Bright, pull over..."

"Sir, what's-?"

"Just! Stop the car! Immediately!"

Fool Bright stepped out quickly, and folded the driver's seat down, presumably to help Simon out as well. But Simon was already one step ahead. He clamored out from the backseat, nearly knocking Fool Bright over as he made an ungainly escape from the cruiser.

Had he waited a second longer, Fool Bright would have been out a fair sum of money for needing the interior of his car deep-cleaned.

As it was, Simon fell to his knees on hot macadam, hunched over and scarcely missing Fool Bright's shoes as the licorice he'd ingested came up in a liquefied form.

And once more – almost twice, but there was nothing left. Simon moaned, eyes stinging with tears from the toll of his insides convulsing so terribly.

"Here you go..." A bottle of blue sports drink came into Simon's peripheral, one Fool Bright must have picked up at their previous gas-ups. "It'll help get some vitamins back in you."

The bottle was already half-empty, and Simon drank half of that in one long gulp. His stomach leapt again at the sudden intake, but mercifully the drink stayed down.

"This... reminds me very much of a fellow inmate of mine; he was the member of a traveling circus troupe, a fire breather. Killed the sword swallower in a most grotesque manner." A shaky, humorless laugh left Simon as he slowly got to his feet, met with a concerned but not entirely sympathetic Fool Bright. "He passed on some sound advice, that I never gave much consideration until now."

"Everything in moderation?"

"A fair guess, but not quite." Simon touched his fingertips to his lips, gaze sidelong and avoiding Fool Bright's. "Better out than in."

They rounded to the front of the cruiser as a car approached along this lonely stretch. Simon noted the driver chatting animatedly on their cell phone as they passed; they would be none the wiser of what was now embedded deep in their tires until they reached their destination.

"Sir, you _really_ shouldn't have eaten all that licorice."

"I do not think it was just the massive amount licorice I ate." Simon refused to admit his indulgence had been excessive. Wasn't that part of the freedom Fool Bright was wishing to provide him? Making his own decisions, even if the outcome was far from ideal? "I haven't... I'm not used to all this traveling! I've never done well with long trips such as this, even when I was younger."

"That was definitely a large part of it, Sir. And I don't feel sorry for you, but-"

"I don't expect you to!" He swallowed the rest of the sports drink and thrust the empty bottle back at Fool Bright.

"But... it sounds like you have motion sickness."

"And it sounds like _you_ are the master of stating the obvious." Simon shot back. "I suppose, much like every other unfortunate stroke of luck that has come to pass in my life, I shall 'deal with it.'"

"I... well, I could let you sit in the front, maybe?" There was an uneasiness in Fool Bright's tone suggesting, yes, he _could_ permit it. But whether he _should_ was a different matter.

"No." Simon's response was immediate, and so too was his explanation. "Fool Bright, it is clear this is against transporting procedure, and I would not ask you to go out of your way to-"

"Oh, no, Sir! If it's for your _health_ , there's really no reason why you can't be allowed to sit up front." He patted his hip, where his gun was holstered. "It's not as if I'm unprepared if you get out of hand."

Simon rolled his eyes. The notion of Fool Bright trying to subdue him, gun or otherwise, was ludicrous, just as much so as Simon _needing_ to be subdued.

Well, it was ludicrous to _Simon_. Likely not so much to anyone else who'd encountered him over the past six years.

Fool Bright, it seemed, had (as he was frequently able to) deciphered his thoughts by that eye roll. "I mean, that's the explanation I would give, anyway. If we were questioned. And, there'll be a checkpoint when we cross into New Mexico, just like the one we passed earlier, so I'll have to shackle you for that, but..."

"Fool Bright, listen to all these exceptions you're willing to make for a common, run-of-the-mill felon."

"No, Sir, I'm doing it for you."

Simon's heart spun the way his stomach just had. Damn Fool Bright, and his earnest simplicity. Simon couldn't help but take a step closer, and then a half-step more to fill the space between them.

Now that they were in such proximity, and _alone_ , what choice did he have? Had Fool Bright really expected them to go the entire length of this journey without sneaking in even the smallest physical extension of the affection that, as of yet today, had only been communicated through words and glances?

He lowered his face, only to have his advance parried away by Fool Bright's hand cupping firmly over his mouth. "Sir... No offense, but you just vomited up a whole bag of licorice."

Simon exhaled heavily against Fool Bright's palm, eyes narrowed at being snubbed in such a manner.

"But like I mentioned earlier, there is a rest stop in thirty miles or so. You could brush your teeth if you'd like. In the meantime..."

Fool Bright's hand slid from Simon's mouth to cradle his jaw, and he leaned in to kiss him softly on the opposite cheek.

"Will that do?"

The heat flaring across Simon's face, that remained as he climbed into the front seat, and even still when he ducked his head away after Fool Bright shot him a smile while restarting the car was more than a sufficient answer.

* * *

While riding in the front seat did wonders for the motion sickness Simon had been suffering from, it was not exactly conducive to catching up on the sleep that endlessly eluded him when he was behind bars. There wasn't the room available in the backseat; even with his travel pillow lending support to his neck, the rest of his body could not find a halfway comfortable position in which he could hope to fall asleep.

And that wasn't the worst of it.

The hanging sun visor was of no help, considering how far down Simon was nestled into the seat. The rays lanced viciously through the window, showing no mercy regardless of how he bent himself in order to avoid them.

Fool Bright, for his part, did not interrupt Simon's constant grumbling and squirming – that is, until Simon found the lever on the side of the seat that caused it to recline abruptly, and let out a short yelp as it did so.

"Sir, are you..."

"I'm fine, Fool Bright." He brought the seat partway back to its original plane and situated himself that he was nearly facing Fool Bright, pillow stuffed in the slot of space between the door and seat. "I'm sure once the sun goes down, it'll be considerably easier to find a position in which I'm able to doze off. Or perhaps it's simply, I'm not used to trying to sleep somewhere that doesn't reek of death and despair. I suppose I'll just have to wait it out."

Simon closed his eyes in an attempt to prove that, despite his lamentable results thus far, he would not be deterred.

"Here you go, Sir."

Squinting his eyes open, Simon was greeted by a pair of amber sunglasses extended towards him.

"It's okay. I trust you with them. I don't really need them right now, anyway." Fool Bright nodded to the visor on the driver's side, that was flipped down. "Please take them."

Knowing Fool Bright wouldn't be beyond pulling the car over again for the sole purpose of pinning him down and forcing them on, Simon did as he was instructed. He must look absurd; Fool Bright certainly did in them, but...

It struck Simon how displeased he would be if Fool Bright, one day, suddenly showed up without them. When had these little _things_ about Fool Bright – even the patently ridiculous things, like these out-of-date aviators – begun to _mean_ anything to him?

As was to be expected, they _did_ help quite a bit. Simon sat up straighter, not having to tilt his neck so much against the pillow. Were he to drift off for a few hours, he wouldn't awaken to any soreness, as he likely would have in all the other positions he'd contorted himself into.

"You look very cool, Sir." Fool Bright grinned over at him, so bright Simon was glad he was wearing the aviators. "Perhaps at the next gas station I can pick up a pair for you, if you'd like."

"Silence, Fool Bright. Yours are more than satisfactory for the time being."

"Are you sure? You know the reason there's so many styles and colors is because everyone has such different tastes and I wouldn't expect -"

"Of course I'm sure." Simon crossed his arms, realizing too late Fool Bright likely wouldn't see his sharp stare now with the lenses obstructing it. "They are _yours,_ and therefore the most suitable pair I could possibly have."

His arms were still crossed as he closed his eyes once more. Using the same measures he did while in his cell to slow, regulate his breathing that he might fall asleep, Simon took note of the noises, sensations around them. Recognizing what they were, and one by one, tuning them out.

The whistling breeze from the cracked-open windows. The coarse fuzzy fabric of the seat brushing his arms. The low hum of the radio – Fool Bright must have grown tired of his audiobook. The hand set on his leg.

The hand on his leg...

And Fool Bright's voice – or was it really there, and not just Simon's extrapolating the words from the meaning of _the hand on his leg?_

"Get some rest, Sir."

* * *

Doing as Fool Bright suggested, Simon later awoke to find the horizon beyond them a dusty violet, a handful of stars spilled across.

Propping the aviators up on his forehead, Simon glanced over to see Fool Bright mouthing the lyrics to the classic rock song on the radio. Simon swiftly changed the station, landing on a contemporary pop tune, which startled Fool Bright into looking over at him.

"Oh...! Did you have a good nap, Sir?"

Simon nodded, a smirk appearing as he removed the sunglasses to hand them back. "Yes. Here you are."

"Thanks!" Fool Bright hooked them onto his shirt collar. "Say, what do you think about dinner soon? There's a nice family restaurant coming up, maybe twenty minutes."

Simon's mischievous mood immediately darkened. "...I ...I don't know, Fool Bright. I wouldn't... I know what you're trying to do. However, I don't believe it's worth sacrificing all the other patrons' peace of mind simply to give me a decent meal."

"Sir, do you know that there's a high likelihood, odds-wise, that someone eating there could themselves have been convicted of a crime at some point?" Here was the Fool Bright Simon knew so well, passionate about the rights and wrongs of the world. "Maybe just a misdemeanor, like shoplifting or a speeding ticket. Heck, it wouldn't be out of the question that there's some creep there who has domestic assault or something of that caliber on their record. That makes them way more criminal – dangerous - than you!"

"... _You_ know that, but -"

"But nothing, Sir. It's not _your_ problem if they're passing judgment on you – and, I guess, me for bringing you in there. Besides, we're kind of in the middle of nowhere, and it's later too." The clock on the radio read 7:07. "I can't imagine it'd be packed full."

* * *

Upon entering the restaurant some twenty-odd minutes later, Simon tensed and valiantly fought the impulse to lash out at Fool Bright for being so utterly _wrong_. It _was_ packed full; Simon estimated about fifteen booths bordering the ten or so tables in the middle, and all but a few were taken.

Even with the forest green "ARIZONA est. 1912" sweatshirt Fool Bright had recently purchased him covering a prison-issue tee, his slate gray linen slacks and the _damned_ iron shackles about his wrists made it evident _what_ he was. Simon Blackquill? No, he was just Prisoner #048728B.

And that was precisely how he was eyed as the hostess led them to an empty booth in the corner of the restaurant. How fitting they were seated there, considering _cornered_ was the exact word Simon would have chosen to describe his current state.

Was this how it was to be tomorrow? When thrust amid dozens of people who, other than Aura, were just as much strangers to him as the patrons of this restaurant? For all he knew, someone in this very building was also on their way to Albuquerque, for the same purpose, of attending Carmen's funeral.

Fool Bright told Simon he could order anything he'd like, and while he typically would have stayed safe with meager staples like a cup of soup or a hamburger steak, he was absolutely famished. And so he took Fool Bright up on his offer, ordering what, to him, was now nothing short of a delicacy.

The waitress did an excellent job feigning she thought nothing of her newest customers, a pleasant smile highlighting her young features. She promised a timely return with their dinners, which Simon yearned for, as it meant he would have something to focus on other than the family seated somewhere behind them, where he could hear a young girl teasing her brother.

The pang inside him was instantly erased fifteen minutes later by the mouth-watering aroma of pork chops and mashed potatoes smothered in gravy.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a home-cooked meal like this, and there was the distinct possibility the next one would be his last, ever. Even when Fool Bright would bring him leftovers from his own dinners, it wasn't the same having them reheated in a plastic Tupperware container, as it was to have a steaming hot platter set in front of him.

Simon ate like he'd just rediscovered his sense of taste. This seemed to suit Fool Bright fine as he leisurely went through his own BLT sandwich, otherwise preoccupied with the map set out in front of him, charting the final leg of their journey.

The waitress returned asking if they'd like dessert right as Simon was amidst plowing through a side dish of rice pilaf, part of what Fool Bright hadn't finished from his own meal. He hadn't even the chance to swallow before Fool Bright ordered for the both of them.

"-and he'll have a slice of apple pie. A la mode!"

Simon was about to ask just how Fool Bright had known he enjoyed apple pie – but then again, perhaps it was simply Fool Bright's intuition to order whatever was the antithesis of his own dessert: cherry cobbler, and apple pie fit that description – when the silverware stacked upon the dirty plates the waitress had gathered slid off, clattering to the floor.

Convicted murderer or no, commonplace manners like assisting a young lady had never left Simon. He reached down, retrieved the fallen utensils (not an easy task, given his shackled wrists), and handed them back to the waitress.

"Thanks! I'll be right back with your desserts." She gave him what he believed to be a genuinely thankful smile before whisking away to the kitchen.

His face already turned towards the interior of the restaurant, Simon chanced a flitting scan of those around him. His eyes caught those of a teenage girl seated with her family a couple tables away, who was keenly watching him – likely this wasn't the first time she'd looked over. His mouth quivered into what he hoped was a calm smile – or at least not a scowl.

She _sneered_ , very visibly, marring her youthful face. Simon's shadow of a smile splintered apart, gaze moving to who must have been the girl's grandmother beside her. She wore a look of abject horror so strong, he knew it was not solely for the fact that he'd interacted, however indirectly, with her granddaughter, but that he was _there._ At all.

Simply existing.

And just like that, Simon's stomach, which he thought only had room left for a slice of pie, was now filling with absolute dread.

Their eyes weren't the only ones latched upon him, he could _feel_ by just how strongly his skin was crawling in gooseflesh, by how damp his palms had become.

Fool Bright, curse him! He'd been wrong – no... he hadn't been _wrong_. He'd done something far worse.

He'd lied.

The desserts arrived, and Simon shoveled in two huge bites of ice-cream covered pie before wiping his mouth and clearing his throat. "Fool Bright?"

"Yes, Sir?" Fool Bright looked up from the map still unfolded at his place. While he'd mostly been tracing their path to Albuquerque, he'd also found childish amusement in some of the more peculiar town names. Simon's response to Fool Bright eagerly sharing them had been the blankest expression one could muster with a mouth stuffed full of pork chops.

Now it was Simon's turn to share with Fool Bright something that amused _him_ greatly.

Simon took a sip of his water, granting just enough time to steel himself before he launched his plan into action. "Might I take this opportunity to thank you for... doing all this. For seeing to it that I may attend my stepmother's funeral after all."

"Wh- ...really, Sir? You mean that?"

"Yes. You see, perhaps the funeral will inspire me for how I'd like my _own_ funeral to be carried out. That is, if they allow me one. I sometimes wonder if I will not be tossed out along with the weekly refuse, left to rot and deteriorate beside all the other rubbish."

"Sir! Stop, you know that's not..." Fool Bright trailed off, as this was a topic that had yet to be broached between them. Simon never discussed his impending execution with Fool Bright, or anyone. What was the point of doing so? It either happened, or it didn't, and if it _did_ , well... what did Simon have to worry about what would take place afterwards?

"Not true? Ah, perhaps it won't be. You've been so useful at fulfilling requests for me, Fool Bright. Even ones I don't _ask_ of you." Simon paused pointedly, referring to _this_ entire weekend. "Perhaps you would be able to put in a request that I would be allowed to _choose_ my method of execution. I was heavily considering Seppuku. You know what that is, don't you? When a dishonorable Samurai ends their own life by -" Simon lifted his unused butter knife with both hands, turning it to a downward angle towards his middle.

"I'm quite familiar with what Seppuku is, Sir!" Fool Bright rose so he could lean over and snatch the knife away. It must have registered to him, finally, all the pairs of eyes zeroing in on them, because his normally loud voice fell in volume dramatically. "I don't think there's need to _discuss_ it. Not _here_."

But Simon was not through. "So you must know what a 'second' is, correct? Is that what you'll be for me, Fool Bright? Will you be there to separate my vile head from my shoulders? I would cherish the thought of _you_ being the one to swing the blade of justice and rid this world of a detestable creature such as myself."

"Sir! Please, this isn't proper dinner conversation."

There was a _fear_ in Fool Bright's words that Simon savored. Another forkful of apple pie interrupted his pronounced smirk, and he chewed carefully, swallowing before deigning to respond.

"Whyforever not?"

Fool Bright didn't answer, only gave the barest flick of his eyes to the restaurant aside them.

"Are people _staring_ , Fool Bright? Are they _looking_ at this monster, this black-hearted knave who for once has come to feast on standard fare as opposed to devouring the hearts and blood of the innocent?" Simon's teeth were bared in a distortion of a grin, and he ran his tongue along them to mark his emphasis.

" _Stop it_ , Sir." Fool Bright leaned forward, able to stretch out his arm under the table and rest it meaningfully on Simon's knee. "I'm not asking you again; I'll drag you out of here if you keep this up."

Something about the touch – it wasn't a tender one in the least, but that Fool Bright still even _wanted_ to make contact with him... it stripped Simon of his defenses momentarily.

"Fool Bright...are you _truly_ this dense?" Simon's hand overlapped Fool Bright's, his fingers digging in pleadingly. His voice fell to a desperate hush. " _Please_ , I... I can't stand it any longer. Do what you must, but _get me out of here._ "

Slipping his hand out from under Simon's, Fool Bright stared back for a long moment before setting his fork and cobbler aside. He dug out his wallet and slapped down enough for the check and an _extremely_ generous tip, which was, Simon supposed at this point, well-deserved.

"Come along, Sir."

* * *

After exiting the parking lot, Simon somehow managed to bite his tongue for the length of two entire songs before he moved to retaliate with words as sharp as the proverbial dagger sticking out of his back.

"Fool Bright, if you- "

"No. We're not talking about this, Sir. Not right now, anyway. I'd like to wait until I've calmed down." He turned the volume of the radio up, which Simon just as promptly dialed back down.

"Wait?! Ha, you may wait, if you wish. I will do the speaking, in that case."

Fool Bright's silence gave no indication of if he was complying, but Simon wouldn't have cared either way.

"You _knew_ they were _watching_ me, Fool Bright. _Staring_." Simon spat the word, as foul as it tasted. " _Before_ I detailed my... my demise. Do not begin to reprimand me for how I reacted; I was only giving them the show they wanted."

"Sir – Prosecutor Blackquill, you were _completely_ out of line! You were... you were like a little kid, throwing a tantrum just because things weren't going your way! It was em-" _Embarrassing_. That's what Fool Bright was going to say, so what he said instead meant nothing to Simon. "It just shouldn't have happened, okay?"

"It's _my_ fault, is it?" Simon growled, though almost wanting to laugh at the _insanity_ of all this. "That those slack-jawed rubes couldn't grasp the idea a villain such as myself walks amongst them? That they felt to goggle at me like I were some carnival attraction? 'Step right up, come see the Twisted Samurai in all his depravity; not for the young, elderly, or faint of heart!'"

"No, it's not your fault for them staring at you. Of course not! Or... it _wasn't_ , but..." Fool Bright's hand drifted off the steering wheel briefly, as if he meant to place it on Simon's leg again, but it fell back, gripping tighter than before. "But you only escalated it, and you _knew_ what you were doing! And you can't... you can't say those things to me! About... about the-"

"I can do as I please; _you_ most certainly do! You _knew_ what would happen, should we eat there, and insisted upon it anyway!" Simon's voice was vicious and hateful, a tone reserved for new inmates who thought the Twisted Samurai was too pretty to be as twisted as his moniker, and found out the hard way otherwise. "There's a term for men who carry out such deliberately treacherous actions, a title no one who prides himself on living by the code of justice should ever boast: _Traitor._ You deceived me, Fool Bright, and if I were you, I would start saying your prayers, as you will need an intervention of the most divine power to escape what fate I have in store for you."

"I never said you wouldn't have to deal with that, Sir. Actually, you're going to always - probably for the rest of your life! - deal with that kind of treatment, even a little." As the pace and zeal of his words accelerated, so too did the car; Simon noted the speedometer approaching 75. "I wish I could make everything easy for you – God, do I wish that more than anything in the whole world! But _you_ have to try, okay? I'm not gonna let you blame me when you're not even willing to _try_! I can't try _for_ you, and I know... I _know_ sometimes even trying is hard, but justice can not be attained unless _you're_ going to _let_ yourself be helped. You're so quick to shut down and-"

"Silence, Fool Bright!" Simon hammered his fist down on the dash, right on the air conditioning vent. The pain it created was more delight than discomfort. "I do not understand you, nor the illogical tripe you insist on spewing at me. I can _not_ be _'_ helped', regardless of however much you try, or want _me_ to do so! Nothing that you or _anyone_ can do will prevent the world at large from viewing me as anything other than subhuman filth! There is no hope for me!"

The second the words left Simon, he went careening against the door as the car screeched to a halt; Fool Bright had pulled off _hard_ to the shoulder. No sooner did Simon part his lips to speak again, than they were covered, crushed by Fool Bright's.

They'd shared many kisses to this point – the frantic, messy clash while their thoughts were more focused on what their hands were - or would soon be - doing, or the surreptitious peck snuck in when that was the best that could be managed, else things spiral into something unstoppable.

But it'd never been like this, a confession and a promise sealed together, leaving Simon overwhelmed but still wanting to fight Fool Bright off. Wanting to punch and flail and beat him away, because Fool Bright just _didn't listen_ to reason, curse him! No appeal to his emotions like this could... could...

Except, _yes_ , it could leave him powerless, because it was doing just that. It was just so... It felt so...

 _Good._ When Simon had lost all concept of the good remaining in the world, in humanity, in him _self_ , Fool Bright and just being near him and _with_ him... it was _good_ and struck Simon sharp and true, cutting through the cloak of despair shrouding his existence.

Fool Bright's hands were fisted in Simon's shirt, his forehead pressed to Simon's as he spoke.

"Sir. _I_ would never view you that way. And I never have. Even if you want to think _every_ other person in the world sees you that way, and even if you see _yourself_ that way, and think there's no hope for you... _please_ , don't forget, that I _always_ know there is. Because I certainly never forget it."

A slower, more tentative kiss came next, and Simon sighed from the back of his throat, fingers curling around Fool Bright's wrists as he deepened it.

And then, just as the rest of his body had come to life, so belatedly did his senses.

"You should release me, Fool Bright." His words came out a low rasp, and a disgusting lie. What was he saying, for Fool Bright to let go? Simon wanted his hands there. And in his hair and on his hips and further down and _everywhere_ else. He wanted it all and he wanted it _now._

But Fool Bright obeyed, his hands carefully unclenching from Simon's shirt as he pulled back.

"Fool Bright...?" Simon's voice had taken an abrupt turn, now meek and vulnerable and _God_ how much he hated hearing it like that but he hated himself even more for the epithets he'd hurled at Fool Bright. "Please... forgive me for..."

Fool Bright started the car up, nosing it back onto the highway. "I already have, Sir. It'll take more than that for you to get rid of me."

Simon decided that, as hackneyed as Fool Bright's oath might have been coming from anyone else, the key factor was that it was _not_ from anyone else. It was coming from Fool Bright, who had not fallen short of any of his promises, however banal they may or may not be.

* * *

A soft spatter of rain began ticking the windshield as they drove on. Precipitation wasn't unheard of in semi-arid climates like this – however, it hardly ever remained this gentle, tranquil. Sure enough, the stars that had so faithfully twinkled overhead as night had fallen were now obscured, as was most of the moon. Only a thin fingernail peeked out behind a fat black puff, darker than the dark of the sky.

If they idled for even a few minutes, they had a high chance of being caught in a torrential storm.

However, Simon was more concerned with what was brewing inside his own person.

He refrained from glancing over at Fool Bright too much – whenever he did, it only stirred what had been ignited when they were pulled off to the roadside. This _need_ gone unfulfilled, as evidenced by the whisper-like prickling on his lips, and the tension collecting throughout his body, converging in his stomach and then lower. But there was also something... less carnal, less mindless. Something... that wouldn't leave his heart, only continued pooling there until it felt fit to burst.

If he was calculating correctly, they had approximately four more hours until Albuquerque, and that was four hours Simon knew he could not survive brimming with so much affection and being unable to act upon it.


	3. Chapter 3

As it was, Simon lasted another forty-five minutes before the urges consuming him spurred him to action.

"Fool Bright, have you counted how many cars we've passed since leaving the restaurant?"

"No, Sir, I haven't. It's been kind of... difficult!" The rain was now pouring down in buckets, the wipers screeing rhythmically along the windshield in their futile attempt to stave it off.

"One, Fool Bright. One car, unless some buffoon neglected to put his headlights on. Which means, we are the only ones insane enough to be out at this time, in conditions like these. Which also means... " His fingers hovered closer, came to rest on Fool Bright's leg. "No one would witness any... _interaction_ you and I might engage in."

As oblivious as Fool Bright could be at times, Simon's head dipping closer to his, breath a low hot growl, left no room for interpretation.

"Sir! Can you please control yourself?! I... I _appreciate_ your efforts, don't get me wrong, but I _told_ you: I can't fall victim to any distractions! Especially, like you said, in these conditions!"

Simon ignored him, his hand remaining at the top of Fool Bright's thigh and slowly running closer to his zipper. Fool Bright tried to jolt him off by bobbing his leg, but he was no match for Simon's unrelenting grip – or desire.

"I'd wager that you're already – " His fingers slid down, pressing to demonstrate his meaning. "– considerably distracted, Fool Bright."

"S-Sir!" Fool Bright finally grabbed Simon's hand and threw it off. "Riding in the front is a _privilege_ , that I can easily take away!"

"Are you saying you would like to get me into the backseat?"

The car squealed wetly, slamming to a halt, and Simon was flung forward. Had he not been buckled up, his face would have crashed against the glove compartment. When he regained his bearings, he realized they had pulled off to the shoulder again – a decision which had incited this whole predicament.

"I would _very_ much like that, Sir," Fool Bright conceded. "But can you _wait_ until we're at least closer to our destination? I would hate that we're late because... because of too many stops. As much as you – and I – might want it to be, this is not some trip for pleasure!"

 _That_ was an understatement if Simon ever heard one – although, he had to admit, it would have been more displeasing to make this journey and back again _without_ Fool Bright, even with it having been anything but smooth thus far.

Simon waited for Fool Bright to say something else – he must want to, correct? The car was still parked off to the roadside, and Fool Bright appeared to have no intention of changing that, not with his arms crossed atop the steering wheel, head tipped forward against them.

"Why aren't we moving, Fool Bright? You pull over to tell me you would _not_ like to make a brief... _stop_ , and then proceed to idle here, despite it? Has the desert air addled your already questionable sense of logic?"

Fool Bright slowly lifted his head, all sorts of confused and, for the first time Simon noted, _tired_. "It's... it's not safe driving conditions right now, really. I... I'm sorry, I just can't..." He paused, glanced back behind them. Simon followed suit, not sure what they were looking at other than the rear windshield wiper streaking back and forth against the sheet of rain.

"What is it, Fool Bright?" Simon pried.

"There was a motel a few miles back – maybe less than that! And, I considered stopping there. I mean... if it wasn't so _bad_ out, I could suck it up and drive the rest of the night. But..."

Simon turned to check behind them again, as if _now_ he would see this motel Fool Bright spoke of. "I don't recall any motel."

"No, of course not. You've other things on your mind, don't you, Sir?"

Simon smirked at him, not denying it. "Well, it is _your_ decision, as the navigator. _You_ are the one complaining of this rain, and the impediment it creates while you drive. I couldn't care less if we arrive early, late, or not at all due to crashing into a giant Saguaro and exploding in a fiery and needley ball of flames."

"Sir, stop it!" Fool Bright scolded, but Simon swore he was fending off a smile.

"And _you_ stop dallying and _decide_!"

"I don't know... like I said, we're not _too_ far, and a few hours rest can't hurt. And... it's just not _safe_ right now and..." His voice quieted, and he reached over to brush the back of his fingers along Simon's cheek, letting them drift up to Simon's hair. "And I... Sir, it'd be so nice, if..."

 _Nice_ was such a Fool Bright word, as the mess of thoughts possessing Simon's mind were anything but. Although, the sensation of his skin against Fool Bright's, as it had been, was rather nice indeed.

"I will not try to sway your decision any further." He remained steadily focused on Fool Bright, giving no hint of how unbearably the fire within him still blazed, save for a soft, disappointed exhale as Fool Bright removed his hand. "But let it be known you've not currently stated one con of the prospect of resting over at this motel you allegedly spotted. You need only consider which option would cause you the most regret, ultimately, and go from there. You say you 'don't know' but... it sounds as if you do."

Fool Bright nodded, started the car up again, and made a U-turn back into the direction from whence they came.

* * *

The motel wasn't _right_ off the highway, but it was close enough, up a short gravelly drive that terminated in a crudely staked parking lot. At least, that's what Simon assumed the bare patch of land in front of the motel to be – there were no other cars present to verify this.

"I somehow doubt we'll have to worry whether or not there's vacancy," Simon commented as they returned to their assigned roles. He was cuffed, and followed behind Fool Bright as they hurried through the downpour and to the motel's office.

Those brief moments left every inch of Simon drenched through to the bone; Fool Bright, ever prepared, wore a ballcap he'd packed – Simon had no idea who the insignia on it belonged to - and he gave Simon an apologetic look for not having provided him with one as well. But even a simple gesture like that would have come across as suspicious in its decency; Simon wondered, even, if his sweatshirt would raise the brow of whoever was manning the office.

Fool Bright was shaking out his hat when a man emerged from the back. He looked to be around Fool Bright's age, although it could have just been his stark expression making him appear older than he actually was – a trait Simon was all too familiar with.

"Good evening, Sir!" Fool Bright set his cap back upon his head and reached to his belt, whipping his badge from its holster to proudly display it. "I'm Detective Bobby Fulbright, and I was hoping that I could find lodging for myself and this -" He stored his badge away and gave Simon a solid slap on the back. "- disorderly prisoner I'm transporting!"

Simon bit back a growl as he side-eyed Fool Bright. Why couldn't he just show people his badge like a normal human being? Casually remove it from his pocket, flip it open in the relaxed manner one might page through a magazine. Once Simon officially regained his prosecutor's badge, he was going to, without precedent, rip it from his jacket and shove it in Fool Bright's face. See how he liked it.

Actually, Fool Bright probably _would_ like it. Love it even. Would want to give Simon pointers of how to do it with more gusto, and in a smoother fashion.

Simon quickly withdrew this decision of his, while Fool Bright and the owner chatted.

"H-Hourly?! Uh, no, we're just looking to stay the night. The whole night! So, nightly rate it is!"

So it was _that_ sort of motel, was it? Simon felt his lips stretch into a smirk, at Fool Bright's need to be so _emphatic_ about what type of stay theirs was.

"In that case, there's rooms ten and eleven, on the corner. They're the only ones with two beds." The man had a mild Spanish accent, which Simon knew wouldn't be uncommon in this region of the country.

Fool Bright opted for Room 11, and the owner passed over the key, which was on a very worn keychain shaped like an arrowhead.

"I guess you guys want to catch some Z's, but if you need anything, the office is open twenty-four-seven. Just ring this buzzer here, and someone'll be there in a flash. We got just about anything you need: snacks, toiletries, even gasoline if you wanna fill up before you hit the road tomorrow morning."

"Oh, that's very kind of you!" Fool Bright turned to Simon with a sort of teasing smile. "Isn't it kind of him?"

Simon grumbled noncommittally. He knew Fool Bright was enjoying himself, the delay their inane chit-chat was creating when Simon already felt far beyond _delayed_ in the goal he was hoping to accomplish.

Simon's progress was delayed even further by the office door opening and a girl striding in purposefully, stopping short when her eyes took in the two of them. She was the very essence of surprised, her eyes large and mouth rounded in an 'o'.

And yet, Fool Bright saw it necessary to greet her. "Good evening, Miss!"

She didn't say anything back, still shocked, and Simon had to wonder why. Was it his chains? A likely possibility, yes. The pair of them arriving at any kind of hotel would turn heads, but especially so at a rundown, secluded one like this, that surely didn't have quite the diversity of guests a residence in the city might.

...But it was almost as if she'd been _expecting_ a guest, when she'd entered. Just not the two of them.

"Sofia!" The owner beckoned her over to behind his desk, like one might order a pet, and nodded to Simon and Fool Bright. "Now, will that be cash or card."

"Oh, right!" Fool Bright dug out his wallet and proceeded to complete their check-in.

While he did so, Simon studied the girl – Sofia – and she held his gaze in return, very unafraid or at least not showing it. She appeared to be maybe a year or two older than Athena – or, Athena when Simon had seen her last. And though her features were altogether different than Athena's – hair black as a raven's wing, skin a mellow, earthy bronze – it was her eyes that reminded Simon of the dear child he missed and wondered about constantly.

They were open windows, giving Simon a view inside just as much as they were peering back at him.

He wasn't sure, exactly, what it was he was looking at through them – but it was unsettling enough to know he didn't like it.

"Have a blessed sleep, gentlemen." The owner gave them a genial smile, one that Fool Bright mirrored back and Simon ignored.

He didn't smile often to begin with, and felt even less inclined to do so with the sadness clinging to the office's atmosphere.

But Fool Bright's thumb tapping impatiently on his back as they exited the office made him reconsider.

* * *

They followed the wooden porch from the office all the way along the main body of the motel and to the small arm of the ell, which was formed by rooms 10 and 11. Room 11 was around the rear of the building and by the dim floodlights, Simon saw the only scenery in that direction was a never-ending canvas of sage and scrubs that disappeared out onto the horizon. Which was only slightly less inviting than the view Room 10 gave, of the highway.

Perhaps under the sun's rays, it was more welcoming, but they wouldn't be around to find out.

When Fool Bright opened the door to their room, Simon saw it was exactly as he'd perceived it to be in his mind. Spare but agreeable enough for one night's sleep. The beds were queen-sized; at least, he thought so, but then anything other than the slab in his cell seemed roomy. A TV hung on the wall above a chest of drawers, and in the corner was tucked a sink and a door that, he guessed, led to a bathroom.

But what this room had, most importantly to Simon, was _privacy._

The very second they were inside, Simon threw his chained arms around Fool Bright, ensnaring him as he backed them up against that door.

"Oh, Fool Bright, I believe the wait is over. Let us rid ourselves of our waterlogged vestments."

They were perfectly aligned, and Simon pressed himself forward against the top of Fool Bright's leg, that he might truly know his advances in the car earlier were hardly a bluff – they were something that very readily needed to be taken care of, and taken care of _well_.

"Sir, there's not much I can... _do_ when you have me like... like this."

"Ah, but that is your fault, isn't it?" He ached to kiss him, but didn't allow his lips to move more than a hair's breadth away from Fool Bright's ear. "You're the one who insisted I wear these blasted things. If only you hadn't, then you would be able to escape right now."

Fool Bright turned his head to better address Simon. They were so close, breaths mingling. "Well, then _you_ can't escape either Sir, now can you?"

Simon only had time to "Hm-?" before it was cut off by Fool Bright's mouth on his.

It was like surfacing after being trapped underwater, the great _relief_ filling Simon now that he could kiss Fool Bright for however long he wished. Or at least through the night, which for someone as deprived as he'd been, might as well be an eternity.

His hands crept down Fool Bright's back, untucking his shirt. Even with the rain sticking their clothes to their bodies, that it was hardly the most _comfortable_ proximity they'd been, Simon couldn't bear to detach himself from Fool Bright, to bother shedding them.

He didn't see this as a problem, either; only a select few pieces needed to be removed, after all.

Instinctively, he backed up towards the bed, and he didn't have to pull Fool Bright along with; Fool Bright was pushing him there just as much.

Simon stealthily slid his fingers even lower, into Fool Bright's back pockets and closed upon what he'd been after.

In a fluid motion, he whipped his chains up and off from around Fool Bright, and brandished the manacle key for Fool Bright to see. "Too easy."

"Sir!" Fool Bright all but dove at him.

Simon dodged, spinning away and crossing a few strides to the lightswitch, plunging the room into darkness. No doubt, he was far more adjusted to maneuvering in the dark than Fool Bright was, given his everyday environment resembling a dungeon so closely. He deftly unlocked the manacle around his left wrist.

Yes, this was all something Fool Bright would have done, eventually. But Simon simply relished making the _point_ , that he would not abide by any of these trifling 'rules' Fool Bright was so bent on administering – that he could, and would, find a way to cut down any obstacle in his path with cunning when he had not access to his trusty blade.

Two things happened in instant succession before he could release the second manacle.

One: the lights were thrown back on. Two: he was grabbed by the waistband and, after a few noble seconds of defense, thrown facedown to the bed. During his attempt to right himself face-up, the key was ripped from his grip. In the struggle, his stiff linen pants had been tugged down several inches – another action which he would have _greatly preferred_ to not have happen quite yet.

He knew how flushed his face was as he stared up at Fool Bright, who was sitting straddled across his waist, where the elastic of Simon's slacks _had_ been. "Sir, when will you learn you can't outfox justice?"

"Silence, you insufferable dolt!" Simon thrashed about, only succeeding in scrunching his slacks down further, that they were nearly to his knees. "Get off me!"

"What was that, Sir? Get you off? All in due time, haha!" Fool Bright immobilized Simon's right arm, which was already clumsy from the lopsided weight of the shackle still around it.

"Fool Bright!" Simon bucked and flailed, but he couldn't escape from under Fool Bright as his arm was stretched above his head, the free manacle being clamped and locked to the creaky iron-bar headboard.

He was able to slide his arm a few inches in each direction, until the manacle clanged against the vertical bars of the headboard. Other than that, his range of motion was severely restricted. Here he was, quite literally caught with his pants down.

Fool Bright hopped off him, off the bed, and snatched up the room key from where it'd fallen during the whole bout between them. His eyes didn't leave Simon, nor did his stupid grin falter as Simon glared piercingly back at him.

"I'll be right back, okay? Our stuff's in the car, and that owner did say they sell gas, so I'd better grab some so we're ready to go tomorrow morning!" He grabbed Simon by the shirt, yanked him into a deep kiss that stilled Simon more than the shackles binding him ever could. "Don't go anywhere!"

"Curse you, Fool Bright! You will pay for-"

That was all Simon got out before the door banged shut.

* * *

As promised, Fool Bright returned a short time later, resoaked and shouldering a duffel bag full of their belongings. Simon had managed to sit up and scoot back against the headboard, but what hadn't changed was the glare he kept fixed on Fool Bright.

Fool Bright took his sweet time unpacking a few items – setting out his clothes for the next day, fishing out his toothbrush and actually going off to brush his teeth. It was when he opened the night stand drawer and informed Simon of the Bible inside that Simon had had enough.

"Fool Bright, no holy word will save you from the Hell I will unleash upon you if you do not... do not..." He trailed off, not sure if his _wants_ were a match for what Fool Bright (hopefully) had in mind. "Besides, I thought you were _tired_ , in need of a good night's rest. Yet you dawdle about, when there are certain tasks you need to take care of beforehand."

Fool Bright shut the drawer and lowered himself on to the bed, that he were in a similar position to what he'd been earlier, knees splayed across Simon's own legs and resting back on them.

"Oh, I _was_! ...But I guess I caught a second wind, haha. I don't know if I could fall asleep just yet!" Simon didn't miss his eyes flicking down between them, as he reached his arms out on either side of Simon, clasping the headboard. "Where were we, Sir?"

Simon rattled his chain, as if Fool Bright had somehow forgotten it during his brief absence. "The part where I methodically dismember you for being such a... a..."

His sentence was never completed, as his mouth snapped shut upon hearing the _shink!_ of his wrist being liberated. He was so dumbfounded by the action, all he could do was stare at Fool Bright, who was a perfect balance of playfulness and confidence.

Which extended to the question that followed, as he showed off the tiny key, then gently tossed it on the nightstand. "Such a what, Sir?"

Simon was met with no resistance as he drove his body against Fool Bright's to shove him onto the bed, and topple down along with.

* * *

Soon, their clothing was discarded randomly about and around the bed. Simon tried to pretend he was willing to let the night run at whatever pace it so happened to, but he knew his violent kisses and his roving, curious hands that pulled soft moans from Fool Bright - they all revealed how little control Simon truly wielded.

However, he was okay with this. Okay with relinquishing the structure he imposed upon himself in order to survive on a daily basis. While his heart was thumping wildly in his chest and his mind racing, thoughts skipping through it faster than a raptor across the sky, it wasn't from fear, from something he needed to escape by any means possible.

It intrigued him, made him long for more, and he wished he could articulate it better than the throaty, wordless grunts that left him, elicited by the pressure of Fool Bright's mouth on his jaw.

Was this - he mused absently as his arms were pinned down behind his head - what it meant to trust? Perhaps so.

Here he would have thought being _caught_ like this to be... frightening, too similar to the treatment he received day in and day out in prison, but it couldn't have been more different.

 _Exceedingly_ different, even. It wasn't the rusty, impersonal entrapment that came from his shackles, but a raw, unyielding _hold_ that Simon reveled in struggling against – the harder he pressed upwards, the more forcefully Fool Bright pushed him back into the bed. Who in their right mind would fight this ardently to keep _him –_ a disgraceful _criminal_ – so close to their own self?

It drove him to the precipice of madness, that he was somehow wanted, _needed,_ and by Fool Bright, no less.

"See, Fool Bright, and you wanted to keep _driving_ all night. Isn't this an infinitely more favorable decision?" Simon craned his head up, capturing Fool Bright's mouth with his own in a long, lazy kiss.

Slowly, Fool Bright's fingers released their hold on Simon, traveled under his bare shoulders and wrapped him closer as the kiss deepened, only breaking long enough for Fool Bright to answer, "Not yet, Sir..." in a hazy murmur Simon was proud of himself for evoking.

Simon's own hands found their way around Fool Bright's neck, came to rest in hair already mussed far beyond what was regulation acceptable.

"Mm, no?" Feeling particularly devious, he ended the kiss with a teasing suck on Fool Bright's lip. "Ah, and this whole while, I thought you were sated simply by our _time_ together. That _that_ in and of itself was what you considered the most valuable aspect of this bootless errand of yours."

"Well, it _is_ , Sir, but...!" Fool Bright sounded... frustrated, an emotion Simon would never have equated with his upbeat detective. _Very_ , unequivocally frustrated. "I mean, I _do_ , but... but I'd... if I could..."

"Say it, Fool Bright." Simon snarled, rocking his hips up against Fool Bright in hopes to motivate him. "Why can't you just come out and _say_ it?! What sort of man who reveres justices can not even bring himself to state his truest desires?"

" _Sir,_ just... I'd really... _really_ like to fuck you. If... If I may?"

"Tch, what do you think I've been after all this time? Of course you may. But only if you do it _properly,_ Fool Bright. Thoroughly, withholding no reservations." Their lips met again, Simon unable to keep a pitiful moan, the type associated with _begging_ , from slipping out. "I won't accept anything less from you."

"And you won't have to, Sir."

* * *

In the veil of this dingy, nondescript motel stationed in the middlest of nowhere, Simon was engulfed with the purest elation, and let it intoxicate him. He'd successfully lured his Fool Bright into betraying his vow of not succumbing to distraction by doing it magnificently and completely so, by getting ruthlessly fucked into this rickety bed.

It stole all rational thought, stole almost all Simon's senses entirely, to have Fool Bright buried inside him and his mouth buried to Simon's neck, breath releasing in hot urgent gasps. Through the bliss clouding him, he swore he heard Fool Bright pant out his name at the very moments he'd assume it to be swallowed in the heavy rolls of thunder tumbling over the drumming rain.

But even those were soon drowned out by the squeaks of the bed, which only heightened after Simon's hands flew behind his head to grasp the frame, and by the groans of pleasured pain filling the empty spaces between.


	4. Chapter 4

Simon wondered offhandedly if it was within Fool Bright's power to permit him a Chillow for his cell, in lieu of the scratchy, pancake-flat ones issued by the prison.

Of course, he did not _need_ it. He had not even known of its existence until the infomercial began fifteen minutes ago. Like the FlavorWave (which was intriguing, although not practical for a cell) and the Snuggie and its plethora of patterns (each one more horrifying than the next), there was much he had missed out on during his sentence that the past three hours had updated him about.

Fool Bright was fast asleep, snoring into a pillow propped upon Simon's thigh with his arm slung over Simon's knees.

Simon was still too unaccustomed to the more tender, intimate gestures that came with _involvement_ to sleep comfortably – actually _sleep_ – with another person. As theoretically appealing as it would have been, Fool Bright holding him as they slumbered through the night, in reality it was something Simon could not picture happening. He could barely sleep on his own most nights – to have another person all but draped over him was not only cumbersome, but... well, it was too _sweet_ for Simon's tastes.

He could accept being desired sexually, but _romantically_? It was more than a little silly – it was altogether laughable. Again, it was too _nice_ for it to be something that belonged in Simon's life, much like Fool Bright himself. Simon would not covet any more good fortune than what had already undeservedly been bestowed upon him.

So, other than stare at the parade of infomercials and turn his own thoughts over and over again, there wasn't much for Simon to do until Fool Bright awoke. He'd already showered, which had passed a good half-hour. Rinsing off with _warm_ water, and in private, unmonitored, would have been the highlight of his month if not for the activities that had taken place a short time ago.

Now he was just beginning to feel cagey, almost (though not quite) as restless as he would sometimes grow in his cell. At least in the car, there was the sensation of _movement_ , and the stimulation bantering with Fool Bright provided.

A new infomercial began – a kitchen utensil called a "Slap-Chop". Which sounded exactly like something Simon would find most useful, but less than two minutes in, he decided he could not tolerate the grating voice and bug-eyed excitement of the pitchman. Enough of this rubbish.

Carefully sliding out of bed so as not to disturb Fool Bright, Simon found his pants at the corner of the bed and slipped them on. He almost went in search of his shirts, but seeing Fool Bright's own clothing carefully folded atop the dresser led him to a different path. A fresh change of clothes would be most welcome.

The duffel bag Fool Bright had brought in was resting by the dresser, and Simon dragged it over to the bathroom, that he could use the light there to better see as he rooted through it. This probably fell under some sort of misconduct, for him to be sifting through an officer's personal belongings, but Fool Bright shouldn't have left his bag out, ripe for the picking.

It was not the vivid primary colors Fool Bright favored or the ratty gray tees already worn a hundred times over that Simon found, but a crisp, black dress shirt, folded up with a black vest trimmed in silver piping.

It was something Simon would have chosen for himself, and in fact was very much like the shirts he'd worn in his brief time prosecuting – or, alternately, a fitting selection for one to don at a funeral. A regular member of society, that is. Not a death row inmate.

Had Fool Bright purchased this for Simon? He couldn't fathom that Aura, and especially not his father and stepmother would have kept his civilian clothing for all this time, nor that Fool Bright would have had the opportunity to go and obtain it from any of them.

Damn that Fool Bright! Why was he so intent on acting so... _decent_? What was there to gain from it, other than Simon's... not even happiness, but a fleeting moment wherein his mood spiked somewhere close to content?

Simon let his hand skate over the fine gabardine of the vest as his thoughts swung back and forth, sharpening like a knife on a whetstone.

It wasn't about how Fool Bright was _acting_ , it was how Simon was _reacting_. It was so... disarming, so _new_ to him, and yet, there was something... he could conjure up the idea of it happening before. Just not to him. So then...?

Simon hesitated, trying to grasp for what was so familiar about _this_. In the barricaded fortress of his memory, a thin opening expanded into something more. He saw it now, saw... _Aura_. Aura, always armed with her barbed comments and caustic veneer, but stowing them away temporarily when in Cykes-sama's presence.

And if ever asked to describe the type of sentiment Aura held for Cykes-sama, Simon would answer that most notably, it was respect. But _subtly_ , visible to himself and the others at GYAXA who were exposed to Aura Blackquill both when she was around Cykes-sama, and when she was _not_... he would say that it was...

It was meaningless, is what it was.

He had made his choice long ago, to uphold his loyalty to Cykes-sama when it was needed of him most. His path no longer consisted of several unmapped divergences – one of them, possibly in another life and time, trailing on endlessly with Fool Bright at his side. He had only one destination now, and that he had even the knowledge of it at _all_ was more than he deserved, for failing Cykes-sama so miserably as her student.

It was Athena who now had the options of her life branching infinitely wherever she so chose. That was the only thing that could _mean_ anything to him, anymore.

Not this vest that Fool Bright had readied for him.

Simon stuffed the vest away and lugged the bag back to the main quarters. It landed with a _thump!_ louder than he'd intended, and Fool Bright grumbled and shifted about in his sleep.

"Sir...?" Fool Bright whined, and Simon moved to the bedside.

Fool Bright's arm groped about aimlessly, and he lifted his head once he registered Simon's absence. "Sir, where are you... Where are you going?"

"Nowhere of consequence." The amusement Simon felt at Fool Bright's disoriented state tinged his words as he stated what had been his original purpose for getting out of bed. "I've caught up on my rest; I'm just going to stand out on the porch, continue to enjoy this night."

There was a fumbling sort of groan from Fool Bright; he _wanted_ to protest, clearly, that Simon shouldn't even put one foot outside the door without his arms bound or Fool Bright by his side. But his will quickly faded, words slurring with drowsiness.

"Don't be too... long... Sir..."

Simon allowed his fingers a ghost of a touch against Fool Bright's forehead, swiping back a lock of ruffled golden hair. Then, after retrieving his sweatshirt and tugging it on, he set out into the cool Arizona night.

* * *

The storm had ended, leaving in its wake a misty web. In the distance was the mournful howls of coyotes, and the chirping and rustling of various insects. Try as Simon might to soak it up for everything it was worth, the sights and sounds of nature, he could not pay it any mind; there was no room for them when so many other tangled thoughts needed unraveling.

Simon paced between Rooms 10 and 11, trying to envision how tomorrow's events would come to pass. Fool Bright would need to be present there, would he not? There was something alarming about Fool Bright, in essence, "meeting" his family, especially under these circumstances. Would it alter his perception of Simon, to discover Simon's own father did not hold the slightest belief his son was innocent?

Of course, Fool Bright had remained steadfast in his support of Simon even with all the whispers from fellow officers, but... one's own parents not lending it? Wasn't that supposed to be one of the most telling signs of all, what the family of the accused claimed?

Fool Bright was so set on this being something helpful for Simon that he, selfless as he always was, had not considered just how it may challenge his own mental and emotional well-being. He wanted to treat Simon so much like a _person_ , and not a prisoner, but as soon as he was actually subjected to what this life outside of prison entailed for Simon, he could very well change his mind about Simon Blackquill, the _person_.

And Simon wouldn't blame him, no. He would be disappointed for his own sake, of course, but he would be very proud of Fool Bright for, once in his life, not relying on his charged emotions when it came to important decisions. He would be... _happy,_ to know Fool Bright was affected as strongly by him, as he had been by Fool Bright.

Simon realized he was hugging himself; really, it was protection from the chill that so often wafted over the desert in these wee hours. That was all.

His arms fell away and his head lifted as the edges of his vision were filled with the intense light of high beams; another car pulling into the lot. He and Fool Bright were no longer the only guests.

Simon watched curiously, peering from around the corner of the porch as the driver exited and headed directly to Room 2, which was right beside the office. Under the moth-dotted porchlights, he could make out the guest was a man, straight of posture and cutting a figure slim enough to place him around the prime of his life or younger.

And then, most peculiar, he did not enter Room 2. Instead, the door opened, and someone stepped out to meet him. It was the motel owner.

The man and the owner exchanged words Simon couldn't hear. He couldn't even make out the tone, but their body language suggested a sort of rapport had been established between them in the past.

A movement of hands followed – something passed between them. Undeniably it was money, for what else could it be, that caused the owner to linger and examine it?

The owner, seemingly satisfied with the transaction, gave a curt nod before rounding the other gentleman and making his way to the office. The guest – Simon noticed, now, he had no suitcase or other kind of tote with him – stood in the threshold of Room 2, and did not enter so much as have himself _pulled_ in by another figure.

The lights never came on, the final piece of evidence to a very open-and-shut case.

Except...

While it was no secret that this motel was a convenient spot for those desiring a romantic rendezvous, that was just it: there _hadn't_ been a couple who arrived. As far as Simon knew, the only ones currently on this property other than himself and Fool Bright were the owner, and now this guest, and...

But no... she... that girl. Sofia. She couldn't have been more than thirteen, fifteen at the absolute oldest. And she... well, Simon had assumed she was simply the owner's sister or some such relation, as they had an assortment of physical similarities.

Perhaps - the thought seized him like Taka snatching up his prey, and was just as lethal – perhaps she _was_.

Was this what Fool Bright always prattled about, having an internal radar of sorts for justice – the instinct of knowing when inaction was just as foul as having perpetrated the misdeed itself? Simon somehow doubted his own wiring in any way resembled Fool Bright's, but could think of nothing else other than _instinct_ prodding him to do what he did next.

* * *

Going to the front side would be too risky, with it being so close to the office and the owner. Him wandering about unsupervised and uncuffed might be met with a blind eye from the owner considering the other sort of activities taking place, but he couldn't say that for certain. His room had two windows: one beside the door, and one by the sink, and it would not be out of the question for these other rooms, although smaller and designed differently, to also contain a second window, along the rear wall.

Simon silently crept along the back of the motel. The property, he realized as he carefully tred barefoot along the damp, scrubby grass, was on a gradual slope. The grade of it revealed part of what Simon assumed must be a basement level, evident by the wooden double-doors fixed just beyond Room 2, where the ground finally flattened out. It made sense, Simon supposed, as he didn't see where else the owner and this Sofia girl would reside.

But because of slope, when Simon reached the penultimate window, he could not steal a quick glimpse inside as he would have so preferred. Even being reasonably tall, he still had to press onto his toes in order to investigate.

What he saw wasn't much... at first.

The lights were still off, but the TV blared, illuminating its immediate vicinity. Much like the beds in his own room, the one here was directly across from the TV – and therefore half obstructed by the wall jutting out where the bathroom was placed.

His fingers curled onto the slick sill, and he noted how the window itself was raised open maybe two inches. Breath caught in his throat, he chanced trying to lift it a bit further, to gain better audible access. But it was stuck. It wouldn't lower, either. This explained the TV being on, to cancel out any other noises that might be expelled. Likely, information that had been procured through several visits here.

Simon squinted, determined to channel his focus. After a few uneventful minutes of nothing but the garbled hum from the TV, he detected shadows of movement. Into his vision came the guest, positioning himself at the foot of the bed. His silhouette in and of itself would have implied he had unsheathed himself of his clothes, but the glow from the TV confirmed it.

And then it wasn't so much what he saw, but what he _heard_.

There was a yelp, one distinctly young and female. Simon flinched, dropped back on his heels momentarily before regaining his purchase and continuing his surveillance.

He knew what he was searching for, and yet, when it disclosed itself, he was not prepared.

Another figure, the smaller, smoother one of a female entered his frame of vision. He could not see her top half, but that did not matter considering what he _could_ see.

Which was her wiggling down to the bed's edge on her knees, so she could hike up her bottom, present it to the man not unlike a feline in the throes of heat. And the way the man gripped her waist forcefully and easily maneuvered himself in line with her, it was as if this were a well-practiced routine.

A series of pitchy mewls flooded through the room as the man thrust himself into her relentlessly. A gruff string of lewd words blended into the girl's squeals as he rammed his hips into her, possessed, Simon had to believe, by some sort of insatiable demon.

Something twinged inside of Simon, more sour and acute than the wave of nausea that'd hit him after demolishing that bag of licorice. He was no stranger to the unseemly acts that were carried out in prisons amongst other inmates, that no longer shocked him – were as customary as full-body patdowns or weekly cell searches. As for Simon himself, he'd spent most of his sentence in solitary, and therefore had not been subjected to anything worse than encounters that came from being wise enough to offer the occasional oral favor to larger, more volatile convicts during the beginning of his term, lest they violate him far more personally and brutally.

But this was so... so unapologetically heinous. Not anything born out of survival or to establish dominance, but just outright, unbridled sadism. He had studied all the varying aspects of the _whys_ and _hows_ of sexual psychology, including those considered taboo. But just because the knowledge was part of his arsenal, did not mean the _understanding_ was, nor would ever be.

He couldn't witness this any longer. _Shouldn't_ and yet he knew if he were to relay what he was observing to Fool Bright, he could not skimp on any details.

He watched the man raise his flattened hand, and Simon knew what was to follow. He shut his eyes just in time, but that did nothing to shield his ears.

What followed in the next split-second was solid, unmistakable skin-on-skin contact – a slap. Instantly followed by a disturbingly convincing cry of ecstasy, a plea for " _Oh_ , _again!_ "

Simon recoiled as if he himself had been hit. His knees buckled, nearly gave out entirely as he backpedaled down the slant of the foundation. His hands came up to cover his ears, but it was too late; he could not block out the _sounds_ , the lusty, affected cries that had already snaked their way in.

And that _slap._

He counted to fifty as he composed himself, crouching amid the soaked grass, hands still resting uselessly over his ears.

How could he have ever been so amused by the thought that this was the sort of motel couples might meet for a tryst? Well, because it _was_ amusing, in its cliche, and for the fact he and Fool Bright had only ridden right along with it. But he couldn't have known – even begun to assume - that not only was a room provided, but the _service_ as well.

A blatantly underage service.

Inhaling a steadying breath, Simon stood and then set off, nearly tripping over himself in his rush back to the room. Idiotically, he attempted to open the door without the key, and cursed as he was denied with a reverberating _thomp_!

He'd completely forgotten to bring the room key with him – but why would he have remembered? It wasn't as if he'd been granted that sort of freedom – to roam about under his own volition – in the past several years. It was always someone else with the key, not him.

After damning himself for being so absent-minded, he resolved that since he'd be waking up Fool Bright anyway, there was no harm in an alternate, though equally effective, manner of doing so.

With both fists, Simon pounded the door repeatedly and mercilessly. No more than thirty seconds later, the lights had been thrown on and Fool Bright was in the door's place, dodging Simon's next strike, very much alert and very much wearing his polo shirt from the day prior inside-out.

"Sir! What's wrong?! Why are you-"

Simon cut him off, taking hold of his arms and steering him inside to sit down on the bed. A miserable sigh left him, and all he could do was bring his hands up, digging the heels of them against his forehead where his mind throbbed so painfully behind it. "Oh, Fool Bright. _So_ much is wrong."

* * *

Even with how much it wrenched his insides to speak of it, it didn't take long to explain what he'd seen to Fool Bright, who was now as wide awake and thoroughly appalled as Simon.

"I'm sorry Sir, but we may have to miss your stepmother's funeral. There's no way I'm leaving here until I can ensure justice saves the day."

"Yes, very good. Now, Fool Bright, you must know where the nearest law enforcement station is?" They were half a day away from Los Angeles, but this was Fool Bright; him having already determined where any and every station sat along the course of their trip wouldn't have been more predictable. "Or... was there not a rest stop nearby that restaurant we dined at? Those are always littered with officers. Let us apprehend this scoundrel and bring this terror he is reigning to a swift end."

"Sir, I can't... I can't just do that!"

"You can't _what_?! Do you not _believe me_ , think I would spin all this together for the sake of entertainment?!" Simon's hands folded into fists, and he fought the urge to drive one of them square into Fool Bright's shoulder. "I know what I saw! I...trust me, Fool Bright; considering what we engaged in earlier tonight, I know _exactly_ what was happening."

"No, Sir, I'm not denying you saw it, of course not! Nor that something needs to be done about it, but..." He paused only to be met by Simon's seething glare arguing that he best continue his explanation. "But I can't just go barging in, arbitrarily arresting people because of something _you've_ said! There's procedures to all this."

"Something ' _I've_ ' said? Is that-"

"No no, Sir, I don't mean, as in you're a convict. I just mean, as any sort of witness. I need some sort of hard proof. Evidence. Or the girl herself, even, to admit to what's going on, so I could pass it on the local authorities and they can handle this properly - I mean, who knows, they might even have an eye on this place already. Plus, if that sort of activity is going on here, there's every reason to suspect the men involved – at least the owner – "

Fool Bright stopped abruptly, a sort of sadness tracing its way into his disbelief.

"What...? What is it, Fool Bright?"

"He... the owner, that's her uncle." He looked just as woeful as Simon must have, hunched down in the grass just a short while ago. "Her own... her own family."

As Simon had surmised, the two were related. But there was no satisfaction in having it confirmed. "You're... you're absolutely sure?"

"When I got our stuff earlier, and bought a can of gasoline from him... they were talking a bit, in Spanish. And I don't know it very well, but I know _some_ words, and she definitely called him her uncle. _Tío_ , that's Spanish for 'uncle'."

Simon nodded. "It is. So her own... her own uncle is... he's soliciting her out. This is..." For once, words failed him. But then again, there really _weren't_ any words.

"Yes, Sir. Her own family. " Fool Bright's incredulity was growing, to the point where it was dramatic even for him. "I can't believe... I can't! Why would...?"

"Fool Bright, please. Compose yourself." Simon sat down on the bed, close enough beside Fool Bright that he could feel the otherwise imperceptible tremors radiating from him. He was always so emotional, like this, but why was he suddenly dwelling so intently on one specific thread of this whole intricate knot?

"I am composed, Sir, I am. I really am." His body leaned towards Simon's, just a fraction, that their upper arms were touching. "And I agree with you, a hundred percent, that something _has_ to and will be done! I think... I _know_ what's most important right now is the girl's safety."

"Hmph, well, _I_ still would like nothing more than to draw my katana against this uncle of hers, let him languish in a crippling fear much like he has inflicted upon this girl." He had so many _ideas_ of how he would like to punish this villain, he was surprised that he was able to articulate even one. "Let him _taste_ the same horror that he himself has dispensed, before I let him bleed out through exactly one thousand tiny cuts all over his despicable body. That is, after you arrest him, of course."

"I understand that, Sir. But please, think about it. Some kids, especially if it's their own _family_ neglecting or abusing them like this, they wouldn't be very willing to just... trust some random officer who showed up and arrested that family member, seemingly out of the blue. There's lot of reasons this has gone undetected as of yet, and one of them could just be she simply doesn't think she is being abused; that she loves her uncle, despite all this."

Simon knew this to be the truth, that there were many factors invisible to the naked eye that contributed to the situation Sofia was so firmly entrenched in. It wasn't anywhere as cut and dry as just "getting her out" of this hell. Though he couldn't know how long she'd been imprisoned in this life, it was all but certain simply removing her would not _end_ her pain, by any stretch.

And he shouldn't have been surprised that Fool Bright knew it as well, but what didn't fit together, in Simon's estimation, was the way Fool Bright spoke as if he were a seasoned veteran of these sort of cases. Of course, Simon had no access to knowing _every_ single case Fool Bright had ever worked, but he had always been under the impression his partner worked strictly homicide, and violent crimes before that. Juveniles and any abuse they may face fell to an entirely different division.

Fool Bright was still beside himself. His voice was clear and even as he babbled in circles, but his expression and the way he kept gesticulating with his hands betrayed how frantic he truly was.

"If I could just _speak_ with her, somehow. Explain I know what's going on, try to get her to at least... I don't know, realize we _can_ help her, then the authorities around here could take over and-"

"'I, I, I'. So selfish you are, Fool Bright." Simon ended Fool Bright's jabbering by grasping his wrists, rendering his detective to speechless attention. "Does your thirst for justice blind you, convince you that _you_ are the only one who can enact it? How do you propose you will be permitted to interact with her in any sense, since her uncle is highly aware of your occupation? This battle will require more than one blade."

Fool Bright just stared, now less panicky and more a mix of curiosity and the dread of already knowing what Simon was about to suggest.

"Fool Bright, I know I don't have to explain this to you, but I shall: That if I were to request this girl's services, it would be the most opportune way in which to collect the necessary confession you are so after. If I could, perhaps, get her to write it down, or -"

"Wh... Absolutely not, Sir! You're _my_ responsibility, and I'm _not_ going to put you in harm's way like this. And you're not trained for this sort of thing. It's not some movie or... one of your comics; this is very real danger! And you aren't armed, either! The owner – any man dealing in this kind of business would be armed, and... the girl could be hurt, or you... _you_ could be hurt, or..."

Simon could very well allow this to devolve into some sort of debate – that Fool Bright had best realize he was speaking not to the helpless, reedy twit that Simon had once been, but to a hardened warrior. However, if it was to be believed that Fool Bright revered him the way any good detective did the prosecutor he was assigned to, he could stand to dismiss this overwhelming display of protectiveness as little more than Fool Bright so rigidly adhering to what the badge he so cherished represented.

Simon deflected all this compassion the best way he knew how.

"Then perhaps you will be able to attend a funeral after all. Your original objective for this journey, correct?"

Fool Bright's hand dropped away, snuck around Simon to set on his hip. "Sir, _please_ don't say that..."

"Oh, Fool Bright, you know I am jesting." The guarded stance Simon permanently set himself in was intruded upon. His body relaxed slightly, sagging in against Fool Bright as he spoke. "I would not allow myself to be felled by such a contemptible individual. I shall have my wits about me the entire time, and that is all the defense I will need. It does us no good to waste time quarreling about this; our window of opportunity is lessening by the minute, and -"

Simon clipped his own sentence with the hallowed blade known as epiphany.

A _window_.

"Fool Bright, listen." Simon sat up straighter, his tone now the crisp one he had long ago commanded when behind the prosecutor's bench. "I believe I have what could be formidable enough to be described as a 'plan'. Forget what I said about her detailing her situation through writing. You said you would need to be able to speak with this girl about the abuse she is suffering from, but... would it do just as well if you were to say, _overhear_ her admitting all this? To another person?"

"Of course it would. But I hope you don't mean something like wearing a tap, Sir. I didn't bring any of that kind of equipment along; I didn't think we'd need it for a funeral! All I've got is my gun and my taser."

"There will be no need for any such technology, not if everything plays out as I am envisioning it to. Now, first, I shall act as if I snuck off while you were sleeping, oblivious simpleton that you are, and stole your wallet." Simon's expression transformed into a combination of those exhibited by the most wicked of fellow inmates. "That I, even, am plotting my escape, but can wait no longer to to sample the _pleasures_ of this world that have been denied me during my sentence."

Fool Bright blinked, as if he did not recognize the man beside him. Simon took this as a good sign.

"What ever is the matter, Fool Bright?"

"Nothing, Sir! You just sounded so... just..."

"Convincingly reprehensible?"

Fool Bright nodded.

"Excellent. Then it should easily fool this odious man. As I was saying, after I have secured this Sofia alone..."

As Simon verbalized their course of action, he discovered a number of spaces wherein this "plan" (a loose term) could rupture beyond salvaging. But even without much room for error, Simon did not foresee neither himself nor Fool Bright faltering in this endeavor. The variable factor lay within how clever this motel owner – Arturo, Fool Bright had informed Simon of his name – was, and just how willing Sofia would be to accept a helping hand that happened to be weighed down by iron shackles.

"Sir, this really is a gamble; you don't know anything about this guy. He could easily try and test you if he has even the slightest suspicion, or -"

"Hmph, money often assuages any suspicions that arise in the common man. Also, you give this monster too much credit. While it is true that I do not know him, neither does he know me, to accurately gauge the honesty of my answers, of which I will always have one at the ready." Simon knew he had best gird up his confidence now, for it to be properly equipped by the time he squared off against this foe. "Without question, I have the intellectual advantage. Worry not."

"Sir, I'm... I don't think I couldn't _not_ worry about you."

"Then, so be it: worry. But trust me as well, Fool Bright." What he said next had been pinned back inside of him far too long, its power pushing Simon into dealing a solid, impactful kiss. "As I trust you."

His strike was meant to be a quick but damaging blow, one that tied their discussion up, but he found himself fastened to the spot. Fool Bright's hand around his waist was digging in tight, his other now set at Simon's thigh and holding steady, as he extended the kiss for a few seconds more.

A man of lesser discipline would not have been able to extricate himself from the kiss, but Simon prided himself on that very skill – always maintaining the upper hand outwardly, even when inside he was fully willing to submit. He stood and stared down boldly at his companion. "Now; the battlefield awaits us, Fool Bright."


	5. Chapter 5

Simon knew how to lie. Given that every second of his pitiful existence was nothing more than an elaborate scheme meant to honor and protect those more valuable than himself, he'd long been well-acquainted with what the art of deception entailed.

And that so few were aware of this only proved just how masterful he truly was. Skirting the truth, crafting it into something sturdy but still light enough to wield with ease – that was where Simon excelled, and so many others failed. The less one lied outright, or spoke at all, the less one needed to work on maintaining their consistencies, and therefore, the less one would befall any chance of being branded a _liar_.

With that in mind, Simon allowed Fool Bright's "stolen" wallet to do the talking for him. A man committing a crime as means to partake in another, and plotting an escape amidst being transported due to a third, presumably more major one was enough to dismiss any reservations Arturo might have had about this unexpected transaction.

Adding in the fact that even the dimmest man would be skeptical this request of his could be part of a half-baked sting, Simon was pleased when he was met with almost no resistance and led accordingly to Room 3.

 _Almost_ , because before opening the door for Simon, Arturo had tugged up the tail of his tee to reveal a loaded handgun tucked neatly in his waistband. He would be standing guard, just _in case_ Fool Bright came poking around; he had to protect his product, after all.

Simon had forced a conspiratorial smirk, for what did he care if "that incompetent, bumbling excuse of a detective" came running to investigate, only to be gunned down? Arturo was helping him more than anything – two criminals aiding and abetting each others' vices: greed and lust. What was the law, personified by a dullard like Fool Bright, to stand in their way?

At least now he knew Arturo wouldn't be snooping around the rear side of the motel, where Fool Bright should be stationed by now. Their paths wouldn't have any reason to cross, and Simon decided not to waste any energy weighing the possibilities of what _could_ unfold if they did, or if any and every other variable was somehow altered. This is where he was now; this is what he had to, and would, make do with.

He had just enough time to open the window by the sink on the far side of the room, before the door opened and after what Simon assumed to be some sort of explanation from her uncle, Sofia slipped inside.

What was the protocol for this? Did he introduce himself? If he did, he should use an alias, correct? Or perhaps he should just initiate conversation and see where that led.

Then again, it would be most believable if he took her by force, stripped her of her already flimsy clothing, and threw her to the bed. But that went at odds with his one and only objective: earning her trust. He needed to find a happy medium.

Lifting his shackled arms as she neared him, he did his best to remain firm yet polite. "Could you kindly remove these for me? I... I would quite prefer to have full operation of my hands. The key is in my waistband." His eyes indicated his right hip.

Sofia did as instructed, not taking her eyes off his the whole time as she removed the key and easily unlocked his cuffs.

Simon tried to feign interest in return, to look at her the way he sometimes caught Fool Bright looking at him. To seem _appealed_ not specifically by her presence, but by the things she could _do_. He had to remember, that even though in actuality he was here for her, Sofia's entire mindset with him – with every man who requested her company – was that, for an hour, she was there for him in whatever way he would have her.

Admittedly, she was pretty for her age, but in a flat, sterile sort of way. The way the decor of the restaurant they'd visited was attractive, with its artificial flowers and stock framed landscape photos. She would have been prettier, he supposed, if the corner of her upper lip wasn't a dark, crusted–over slit – which it hadn't been when they'd met each other earlier in the evening.

It was very much the same wound he saw many of the inmates who involved themselves in fistfights sporting.

"Thank you." Simon lowered himself onto the bed, rubbing his wrists. "My name is –"

She chucked the manacles on the bed and sat down beside him. "I don't care."

Well, then.

"Er... would it be alright with you if we did not... engage in anything quite yet and just... talked, perhaps?"

Certainly he didn't want to spring everything on her at once. It would be most apt if he could feel out what avenues he could and could not venture down. Of course, that required _her_ cooperation.

" _Talk_ , huh?" She bent her knees beneath herself, rising up so they were face to face. "I'll admit, I am a huge fan of dirty talk..."

Her mouth drew closer to his, and Simon automatically leaned away. "Er, _no_ , not that. What I meant was, conversation. This encounter is about what I want, is it not?"

"I _know_ what men like you want. You don't need to be shy about it. I know how much you paid – I'm more than prepared for a wild time. Whatever you have in mind, I'm game." Without a moment's hesitation, she pressed her mouth to his, hungry and searching for that same desire to be reciprocated.

"Ah, please, can you..." He broke the kiss, repulsed by how very small and _feminine_ her soft, glossy, peach–flavored lips were. He'd told himself going into this that he could at least _try_ and pretend it was Fool Bright here, but even Simon had limits as to how much he could believe in his own lies. "We needn't be so hasty about this."

"What's your _problem_?" She didn't seem suspicious so much as personally offended. How dare he not be attracted to a _child_ barely past the onset of puberty?

"There's no _problem_ , it's... it's simply... it's been some time since I've..." How to phrase this? "Since I've been with a woman."

Another truth, considering he'd _never_ been with one nor ever had any real compulsion to. While it wasn't something he had a _complete_ disinclination to – that it might have very well occured someday, in one of those alternate versions of what his life might have been, Sofia was _not_ a woman.

Yet she kissed him again, with the expertise of someone twice her age, leaving Simon as the one whose lips were lifeless and clumsy. His hands went through the motions, steadying at her hips with no real attempt to hold her. Finally, just before a gag escaped him, he dropped his head.

"I... I'm sorry, I just... I've had quite enough of... this part. If that's alright with you."

"Okay. Fine." Although Sofia sounded as if she were absolutely neither, regarding his decision. "So let's _talk_. What are you in prison for?"

"First-degree murder," Simon replied without missing a beat.

"Sexy." Sofia ran her fingers through her dark fall of hair, pushing it away from her eyes. "Is it true that you guys – y'know, the _murderers_ – get all kind of love letters and whatever from women all over the country?"

Simon could neither confirm nor deny that, at least on his end. The only post he ever bothered to open was what Aura sent him every so often – which was fewer and further between, recently. Everything else he either threw out (or rather, as per Fool Bright's insistence, recycled) or had sent to the courthouse to line Taka's nest.

"It's all meaningless dreck. I've no time nor use for the deluded ramblings of lonely, over-hormonal housewives."

"I'm sure they'd find a use for _you_." She carded her hand through his thick fringe, lifting it and letting it flutter back to his brow. "You're really cute – or, you would be without all this hair."

"Wh–!" He pushed her hand away. Simon abhorred the burden his hair had become, and didn't much care for anyone other than Fool Bright to touch it. He especially did not need commentary on how "cute" he would look with or without it in its current state. "Please, do not..."

"Here, feel mine."

Before he could resist, Sofia took his hand again and guided it to her own midnight-black mane. It was flaxen-soft, like one might find on a well-made doll. Which Sofia so very much resembled, as she let out an airy sigh. Simon feared extracting his fingers too quickly, that he might suddenly shatter the fragile contentment that had settled upon her. This could be the closest he would come to being trusted.

She giggled quietly, very much like the schoolgirl she was, as his fingers gently, rhythmically sifted through her hair. "You're fine... you don't have to stop. It's kind of nice."

He didn't think so – it disgusted him, because while he meant it with no sexual undertones, _she_ did, and God knew how long it'd been second nature for her to read any little gesture from a man as a precursor to sex. This girl they were trying so desperately to help - to _save_ \- had disappeared long ago.

She sighed once more, this time longer and deeper, as if in a dream. "I just want you to relax, you know? I hope this helps you as much as it does me."

While Simon tried to determine if that was an admission on Sofia's part that she too was hesitant about all this, she ducked away. In a well-practiced motion, she snatched hold of both his shirt hems at once, and lifted them up over his head.

He couldn't conceal his shock, both at her brazenness and just how _far_ this had gone, mouth gaping open as he watched his shirts be tossed aside. Her index finger traced a line up and down his bare arm as she curled herself close to him, causing him to flinch beneath the contact.

"What are you so _nervous_ about?" She drew the word out with a fondness and another giggle, as if it were they were just school chums teasing each other on the playground.

"I..." At least she was still misconstruing his flushed skin and shaky hands for anxiety over _performance_. "I told you, I just... I haven't indulged in such dalliances in quite some time."

"Well, I don't know why you're so worried, not when you're – " Her slender fingers moved down to his slacks and started stroking him through the thin fabric. "– _so_ well-prepared."

His body betrayed him, responding with a twitch and a stunted moan as she continued to rub between his legs. The action in and of itself was physically pleasurable, he couldn't deny that. But Simon knew what he liked – it'd been provided to him several hours ago, skilled and deliberate and most of all _consensual_. None of which this was.

Neither of them wanted this. Sofia was just far better at pretending.

"Here..." she breathed into his ear, dropping her hand momentarily to take his, then shoving it up underneath her blouse before returning to her ministrations.

Simon inhaled with a sharp hiss at the sensation of her undeveloped chest under his palm. Bile rose in his throat as she arched her body against his flattened hand, emitting an exaggerated purr. " _See_ , you're getting the hang of it –... _oh_ , mmm."

She swung a leg over, that she was now straddling him. Her sudden weight sent Simon reclining back, his other arm acting as a brace against her aggression.

"Put me in those cuffs." She growled into his neck as her lips sucked a trail down to his collarbone. Even with the inopportune angle she was atop him, she was still able to nimbly bunch down the waistband of both his slacks and his underwear, to keep servicing him without the hindrance of clothing.

This was _not_ part of the plan. He could sense that any second now Sofia would, without warning, pull the leg her too-short terrycloth shorts aside and lower herself on to him.

He was willing to wear a great many labels for the sake of preserving his reputation as the most mentally unstable inmate Los Angeles had ever seen. 'Pedophile' was not one of them.

His hand still planted at her breast, Simon roughly shoved Sofia away from him, off his body and off the bed entirely. She landed hard on her seat, too stunned to pick herself up. Simon dropped down beside her, one hand yanking his pants back up and the other clamping over what he knew was the start of a scream – he felt it vibrating against his skin as she smacked and kicked at him.

"Please, _stop_. Listen to me, I'm here to–" Still, she did not relent, and Simon cupped her mouth tighter, his own voice low and urgent. " _Sofia_! Stop this at once. I am here to _help_ you. Blink once if you understand what I'm saying."

Sofia did, her blink pushing out a trickle of teardrops.

"When I move my hand away, you must not scream. Keep your voice down, too. Please, I just wish to speak with you, that is all."

She blinked again, nodded once and Simon tentatively let his hand drift away.

He'd been looking for the perfect excuse to direct her over to other side of the room, to the sink and the window above it so their conversation could carry out to Fool Bright. He wished it hadn't been _this_ simple, for _this_ reason: the force of his hand had reaggravated her swollen lip, filling the crease of her mouth a deep crimson.

"First, let us tend to your lip."

He led her to the sink and stole a moment into the bathroom to retrieve a washcloth. Upon turning back, Simon found Sofia already curled in the counter's corner, knees bent so her feet rested in the sink's basin. She inched her toes aside so he could wet the cloth and wordlessly snatched it away once it was dampened.

The cloth remained by her lip absently as her gaze traveled somewhere beyond this moment, this room. A thin stream of water dripped onto her clothes, to which she paid no mind.

Simon gave her a few solitary moments to recuperate as he let his own thoughts wander. From where he was positioned – almost directly in front of the window with only the sink between – Simon wondered if Fool Bright could hear him. This room was higher up the slope of the foundation than Room 2, and perfect for someone of his or Fool Bright's height to fit themselves against the wall if slouched. And the angle of the building allowed them to be all but invisible to anyone peering out the window unless they craned to stare directly downwards.

He would have to hope that this prime eavesdropping location was as evident from the outside, to Fool Bright.

Simon's attention returned to Sofia. Probing her for specifics would be useless. It was best to encourage her with only open-ended questions. "What are you thinking about, currently?"

The washcloth muffled her words, but not her defiance. "I'm thinking that you need to mind your own business, Mr... "

"Simon. My name is Simon." He prayed she would consider this an offering of his trust, however small.

"Mr. _Simon_. This doesn't concern you." Finally, she lent him a disapproving glance. Long enough to acknowledge him, short enough to express how unwelcome he and his interest was. "I'm doing what I have to, and you're not going to stop me."

"This is not about stopping you." Simon regarded her sternly. She would have a reply to _anything_ he had to tell her, and he would need to swiftly dismantle each one, if he were to make any headway. "I am a paying customer, and as such, it is up to _me_ how I would like to use this time. And so, I would like to use it to talk to you. I've still a half–hour with you, give or take, and I will use that time in its entirety."

"But you're here with that cop. My _tío_ 's warned me about this happening – a sting."

"Hmph, do you honestly believe a sting would be this ill–attempted? Your uncle would be arrested by now, dragged out of here in cuffs." He couldn't reveal Fool Bright's presence just yet – nor did he want to. The possibility still loomed of this plan going up in flames; he would only allow himself to burn, if that were the case. "That officer hasn't anything to do with this. This is simply, as I said, me talking to you."

"No, you said you were here to _help_."

"That... that I did, but... is talking not helping?"

"Maybe, for some people. Not me. Your payment, now _that's_ what's helpful."

Now she was just being arrogant. _Obviously_ Simon did not know what he was talking about.

"You are being contrary for the sheer sake of it, Sofia. I do not believe for one moment that these convictions are your own; merely, empty words you've been trained to parrot."

"I'm doing what I have to do," she repeated.

"Do _you_ believe that?" He did not want to sound angry with her, because he wasn't. But still, his voice carried unconcealed frustration. "Do you _honestly_ believe that _this_ is what you _have_ to do?! And are not being _forced_ to do?"

"I have a home. A roof over my head, and food." A slow string of tears wet her cheeks, her chin, her words as she kept her expression rigid. "And I get to go to school, learn. It's more than I ever could have dreamed of. Doing this doesn't bother me."

"I care not if it _bothers_ you, it is _illegal_. Moreover, it is _harmful_ and destructive; the damage has already been done whether you recognize it or not."

"I don't care. If it lets me see my family again, I don't _care_."

Simon carefully took the washcloth from her trembling hand and dabbed away the newest sticky collection of mucus and blood from around her lips. She cowered beneath the gesture, but only for a moment. Then she swallowed, tipped her head away from him as she continued.

"My uncle, he's the one who brought me here, he had a lot of... connections and it was easy for him. But he couldn't bring _all_ of us: my parents, my little brother and sister. I-I'm just helping him earn as much money as he can to afford bringing them over here, so we can all be together again. That's all... it's all..." She curled her body up even more compactly, letting her curtain of hair fall forward as she sobbed into her knees.

The situation was more dire than he could have possibly foreseen. Simon had to wonder now, what Fool Bright reporting any of it would do, in the end. One way or another, she would be trapped in some type of Hell.

Not every officer was as kind and compassionate as Fool Bright; they wouldn't care about this one illegal teenage girl, just like _no one_ else cared about her, even herself.

And yet, she was determined to keep on caring about others.

She could not scream for help or physically fight her captor, so she had to do something, and that something was to tell herself this struggle was not entirely in vain, like Simon suspected it very much was. Quite like his own existence, hers was one that had only one, doomed destination. But unlike him, Sofia had not been the one to opt for it. She was being all but bound, gagged and dragged helpless and terrified along it with no chance for escape.

"I understand wanting to do... _anything_ for those you care about. I understand that more than anything else in this world or another. But what I've also come to understand recently is that sometimes you're gifted with people who enter your life that... more than being _able_ to help you, they _want_ to help you."

He paused momentarily and thought on his Fool Bright, allowing his eyes to slip closed for the briefest second. A certain calmness washed over him, one he let seep into his words. "And I can also attest that this is a very rare occurrence – for some, it's non–existent. I beseech you, Sofia, while you may think now that you do not require any aid – the day will come when you will want it, when every part of your being will scream for it – and it will not be there. Because that is the way of this cruel world."

She lifted her head, ran a slender arm along her snuffling nose. Then she looked at Simon. Intent. Receptive.

"My word may not mean anything to you but it is all I have. You can trust me. And the detective I arrived with – his name is Fool..." Simon paused, taking great care to pronounce his detective's name correctly, as one word. "Detective Fulbright. I trust him with my life, and I can promise that you can trust him too."

Sofia stared at him with a heavy significance, as if she'd uncovered some great revelation all on her own at this very moment. "I've stopped believing in other peoples' promises, Mr. Simon."

She was too young to be so firm in that statement. And sadly, it was the only one so far that Simon found he couldn't argue with.

"...I suppose I don't either. It was a silly thing to say, however... I know what it's like to go a long stretch of time not trusting anyone, even yourself. And the feeling that counteracts it, when you do. It..." He hesitated, glancing down at his own unbound hands as he rinsed the washcloth and wrung it out. "It's a freedom, of sorts. For me, my only one. Please, I wish for you to someday experience it too, and you can not do so if you stay here."

Simon set the washcloth aside, and upon doing so, glimpsed the window. There, on the sill, visible only to Simon, was a small black rectangle: Fool Bright's phone. Its screen was illuminated and immediately, it dawned on Simon: the service out here was nonexistent, but even the most basic of phones had a recording application.

When he looked back at Sofia, her eyes were fixed on him with the keenest _real_ interest he suspected she never could muster with any other client. Her guard was lowered, leaving her at her most exposed. He had to deal the deciding blow.

"And he has heard every word of this discussion, and is obligated by his duty as an officer to report this." Or had he _actually_ heard it? Well, now was not the moment to second-guess himself. "One way or another, you will be taken from here, and understand when I say it will be far cleaner to do so now, voluntarily."

As if reading his thoughts, Sofia interrupted with one of her own. "Do you really think I can just _walk_ out of here?! Like, do you think I haven't ever _tried_ that? This...!" She pressed her fingertips to her battered lips, her voice becoming brittle, childish. "This isn't the first-"

God, he could not bear to have that sentence completed. He held up a hand to halt her; a mistake, as she flinched like a wounded animal. "I was certainly not inferring that this would be without risk on both our parts. But sometimes risk is necessary. Now, please..."

Please what? For her to escape was one thing, but for it to appear legitimate was another. He hadn't the luxury of _time_ to consult Fool Bright and formulate yet _another_ plan. His decision needed to be made now, or not at all.

Without bothering to ask, he helped Sofia down from the sink and led her back to the bedroom area, using those precious seconds to piece together how he would go about the only course of action that had popped into his mind.

For certain, he could not allow Fool Bright to overhear. His partner would disapprove, try to clamor through the window in every attempt to prevent what Simon was about to suggest.

Simon himself, disapproved if only because this was the sort of slapdash plan one cooks up when all other avenues were exhausted. He couldn't imagine how _this_ would go right, but he couldn't envision it going any more wrong than everything already had.

And yet...

He sat at the edge of the bed, facing her that they were nearly at the same eye level. Equal, as could _possibly_ be given the circumstances. "Sofia, if I were to tell you I were willing to help you escape right now, would you agree to it?"

"Escape to _where_?"

"Does it matter, if it's anywhere that isn't here?" In other words, he had no idea. Fool Bright should. Fool Bright had _better_.

The slightest shake of her head.

"I need you to do only one simple thing. You must strike me with something heavy, and then exit out the window by the sink there. Do you understand?" Her disbelieving silence showed she'd understood him quite well. Whether she would agree required further explanation. "It must appear as if you fought away from me. Your uncle will not believe I was unable to fend you off if you do not incapacitate me in some manner."

"Your detective... I won't get in trouble for –...? My uncle is always talking about cops and how they're ready to blindly just... arrest, hurt... even kill people like us. For no good reason, except that they can."

Simon guessed she meant immigrants, legal or no, and had no dispute given the way the law had been so unforgiving and strict with his own mother, treating her every bit the second–class citizen. He could not promise Sofia fairness from anyone other than himself and Fool Bright. It would have to be enough.

"Detective Fulbright and I will do everything in our power to ensure you are not punished for assaulting me. Although, I can assure you that whatever you do to me will be of little consequence, ultimately. As I have told you, I am on death row; I have, and will, endure far worse. And I would wager that you... " Simon drew his hand to Sofia's face, pushed away a hank of hair sticking to her tear-stained cheeks. "...that you have already, as well."

Her tear–rimmed eyes wandered to the large lamp resting on the bedside table nearby, and Simon's own eyes followed suit.

Without gaining permission, Simon moved to unplug it – it was much heavier, more solid, than it appeared – and turned back to pass it to Sofia. Her hands cupped the brass base, so tightly her whole body quaked, from sliced lip to white-knuckled fingers to her knobby knees.

He returned to his previous spot, perfectly aligned for her to swing the lamp at him. "Sofia, please, just do as I say."

"Mr. Simon, I–" she stopped as abruptly as she'd started. She couldn't say anything that her wide, horrified eyes weren't already telling him..

His voice, threaded with compassion, was a poor imitation of Fool Bright's but hopefully effective nonetheless. "Whatever you've wanted to do to all those – I am loathe to call them _men_ , but – whatever you wished you could do to them, for violating and defiling you the way they have: Take it all out on me. This is your chance. Please, do not let it pass you by."

With that, he closed his eyes, steeled himself, and waited. He was just about to demand – this time much more harshly – that Sofia obey him, when a burst of pain exploded across his face, dropping him from the bed to the musty carpet.

The whole left side of his face burned from the heat of impact, throbbing down to his skull. On the floor lay the shattered remains of the light bulb, dotted red – or perhaps that was just his vision, from the blood coursing down his aching temple.

Through a fuzzy, flickering gaze, he watched Sofia rush back to the sink and boost herself up, twisting her waifish form so she could wriggle her legs out the window. The only thing he could discern with any clarity was one final, sorrowful glance before she slipped the rest of the way out.

He'd played his role, as had Sofia. Now it was up to Fool Bright.

* * *

Simon had no concept of how much time had passed, other than that it wasn't long enough for the gash at his brow to quit bleeding.

An infernal pounding, other than the one in his own brain, filled the air. Before Simon could properly comprehend who it was, he was delivered a debilitating kick to his stomach, in effect forcing him from his side to his back.

"Get up! What the _fuck_ happened? Where _is she_?! Where the fuck did she go?!"

Simon coughed and gasped as he tried to prop himself into a sitting position. He didn't have to fake how jumbled his sentences were, for how his head was still chiming with pain. Likely, he'd suffered a mild concussion. "I... I don't know what happened. I simply... I don't know if it was the chains that frightened her, or... she just lost her mind, suddenly and grabbed the lamp and –"

"I am so _fucking sick_ of that _stupid_ _puta_ , always acting out like this. Always crying, always arguing with me! And now _this_!" Arturo wore an expression nothing short of murderous; Simon would know. "Where did she go?"

"I... I don't know, just out the window, that's all I saw. I..." Dammit, even if he'd _wanted_ to tell the truth, he had absolutely no clue as to where they might be. He had to believe Fool Bright wouldn't be so foolish as to take her back to the room – the first, and really, only place that Arturo might check. "She only spoke of 'getting out of here.' She was rambling, deranged, I...I don't know what -"

"She must have gone off to find that officer who brought you here," Arturo spat his disdain – clearly, of the law as an entire institution, not just Fool Bright. "His car's still here, so that means he is too. I'll go to your room and –"

"No! No, are you mad? If she'd gone to that officer, don't you think he'd be here by now?" Very clearly in his mind, he could picture Fool Bright all but teleporting to where he was needed, forming out of thin air if justice was to be served. "The last thing we need to do is alert him of the situation."

Arturo entering Room 11 would be a fatal blow to this plan that wasn't much of one to begin with. Simon wasn't sure anymore what he was trying to accomplish other than buying more time – but for what, at this point? Where was Fool Bright, and what was he _waiting_ for?

The rage burning from Arturo smoldered out, replaced with a sinister glee that couldn't be falsified. "If he's in there, then I'll just kill him. Not that hard, _chico_ ; I've done it before."

 _Kill_. With such a laid-back delivery and venomous smile, Simon knew Arturo wasn't just talking himself up; he was very, unbendingly serious. He would stop at nothing to try and kill Fool Bright, and who even knew how he'd then punish Sofia?

"No, please. Listen." Pressing his palm more firmly to his temple, trying to staunch the flow, Simon did his best to stop sounding like _Simon –_ useless, miserable, fearful Simon – and instead wear the unflappable guise of the Twisted Samurai. "She is a silly little girl; she is nowhere near clever enough to have gone very far, you know that. I think we should just... get this all taken care of with as little interference as possible. Involving that officer in any of this, in _any_ way, just creates needless complications."

"I agree. I hate 'interference' and 'needless complications.'"

For the first time in... _ever_ , that he could recall, Simon had no rebuttal. The barrel of a gun pointing six inches from his face was the probable reason.

"I should have done this earlier, while you two were sleeping. Put a bullet in both your heads." Arturo sounded so much like many of Simon's fellow inmates – even Simon himself at times, narrating such brutality so casually, almost blasé. "Police always sniffing around here, didn't think you were with them, or knew anything, the way you just came in like you did. Guess I shouldn't have doubted my gut, but at least I made some _dinero_ off it."

How stupid could he have been? Simon's persuasiveness had nothing to do with why Arturo hadn't put up much of a protest. He'd been distrusting from the very beginning, when Fool Bright had announced himself as an officer of the law. While there'd been a strong chance neither Simon nor Fool Bright had any knowledge of what was truly going on, there was also the slightest chance they _did_ – or, as had been the case, would come to find out.

Arturo wasn't taking chances. What they did or did not know didn't matter if – _when_ – they were both dead.

The glare he fixed Simon with wasn't hateful or vengeful; it was simply _cold_ , like the distinct, metallic _click_ of the pistol being cocked. This was strictly all part of business. "Your hour's over."

Simon's bleary eyes opened further as beyond Arturo, a lithe figure dashed across the violet horizon in a beeline to Fool Bright's cruiser. The only sound bouncing through the dwindling night was the frenzied slap of bare feet on gravel. Arturo must have registered it too, shock breaking into his countenance and widening his eyes.

It was the last thing Simon heard before the gunshot.


	6. Chapter 6

Simon opened his eyes.

Simon __could__ open his eyes.

He could feel, think. Breathe. Though all of them, barely.

He hadn't been shot.

This he knew as he watched Arturo bolt out the door, rotating about wildly in search of the gunshot's source: while it hadn't been Arturo's gun, it was fired from very close by. Right outside the room, Simon guessed, by how his ears were ringing. And the only other person on this property with a pistol was—

"Hands out! Slowly!... Good. Now, drop your gun."

The world was still askew and spinning, shaking too much and too fast. Incomprehensible. And then it sharpened into the utmost clarity as he saw enough of Fool Bright's form to discern his arms raised. Gun drawn. Aiming, presumably, to Arturo's neck.

 _ _Clunk!__ And a skiffling drag as Fool Bright toed the gun to himself and out of Arturo's reach.

"Okay, good. Now get on your knees."

Even inches from defeat, Arturo's words carried a smugness definitive of one who'd already gotten away with so much. __"¿Que? No hablo Inglés, puerco."__

"Get on your knees or Prosecutor Blackquill will remove them for you. __Now__!"

"Eh? You mean, prisoner, don't you?" But Fool Bright's gun gradually lowered, indicating cooperation. "Little prison bitch from what I—Ow!" A flashing movement of Fool Bright's arm, and the hollow impact of wood upon bone. From what Simon recalled, the porch rail was at waist-level. Or head level, if one was kneeling.

Fool Bright's command of "You'll show him respect!" carried loud and clear over Arturo's furious spitting of "Fuck you, __fuck__ you!"s.

Simon forced himself to his feet. He tried to speak up, but every inch of his skull was still throbbing, like a pendulum of pain swinging from side to side. Nothing short of a healthy dose of Morphine would alleviate it, though Fool Bright's heroic return was all the remedy he needed for the time being.

"Sir, here." Using his foot again, Fool Bright carefully nudged the gun towards the doorway.

Simon staggered over and picked it up. It was unsettling and emboldening all at once, the sense of power surging through him that came from handling such a weapon. "Hm, from the to-be-executed, to the executioner..."

" _ _No__ , Sir, don't you dare!" Fool Bright was a blockade between Simon and Arturo, who had become suspiciously complicit, his posture sagging shamefully. "Just set it somewhere— _ _hide__ it, the best you can. And get your shackles. __Now__!"

Though mildly dismayed, Simon did as instructed. The only way he could think to truly __hide__ the gun was by stuffing it deep under the mattress. Snatching the chains from the sheets, he returned, the realization of how positively grotesque he must look hitting him too late.

Because Fool Bright finally caught a glimpse of him. A glimpse that transformed into a wide-eyed stare, gaping incredulously.

Inattentively.

Arturo sprung upright and drove an elbow back into Fool Bright's straightened arms. Fool Bright didn't fall, but only because he was knocked towards the doorway, into Simon. It was mere seconds of stumbling and entanglement, but plenty of time for Arturo to pound off along the porch. By the time the two had righted themselves, he'd vanished around the edge of the office.

Fool Bright cried out in frustration, running a hand through his hair fretfully.

But Simon was silent, too seething with annoyance that Fool Bright had been distracted by, of all things, injuries Simon had deserved for his lack of preparation. He went back into the room to gather his sweatshirt. This entire ordeal had left him mortified for a variety of reasons; he could at least attempt a shred of dignity by not standing around shirtless any longer than he had to.

"Sir! What __happened__ ?! What did he do to—"

"I'm fine, I—"

"You're not fine!" Fool Bright predictably interrupted.

Simon set the manacles down so he could carefully tug the shirt on over his aching head, and allowed Fool Bright to expend his ranting. Once dressed, he glared at his partner—or what could be considered a glare with his brow so swollen. " _ _You__ are the one in a tizzy for no reason. Did we not conclude this operation would not be without some casualty? Cease these dramatics; they provide us no advantage."

But Fool Bright only continued his whining. "I __knew__ I shouldn't have let you do this!" His fingers reached to brush along the congealing mess behind Simon's fringe.

Simon promptly swatted him away. " _ _Silence__ , Fool Bright! Now, surely you agree we must go and apprehend him."

Fool Bright's eyes burned with disagreement, clearly from Simon's use of "we". In turn, Simon grabbed the manacles up and clutched them to himself, possessively. If Fool Bright needed them (and he would), he'd need Simon as well.

Acquiescing with a sigh, Fool Bright beckoned for Simon to follow as he set off in the direction of their room.

* * *

They kept to the porch, Fool Bright checking each and every room with his pistol at the ready. Though he'd seen Arturo dart off around the office, on the opposite side, he and Fool Bright had dawdled long enough inside Room 2 for Arturo to quickly loop around and slip into a room of his choosing.

But as they soon discovered, apparently none of them __were__ to his choosing.

"This is unnerving," Simon remarked as Fool Bright closed the door of Room 11 and found their trail leading to the rear side of the motel, where Simon had originally conducted his surveillance.

"No it's not! If anything, it tells us he's gotta be in the basement—that's where all his firearms are!" Fool Bright explained, cheerful in a manner that only Fool Bright could be when acknowledging the presence of a criminal's lethal supply of weapons.

"' _ _All'__? What in the bloody hell do you mean by __all__?" Simon had a fearful notion that merely speaking about the guns would cause Arturo to coalesce out of thin air and begin firing.

"Okay, well, there were only three. Don't worry, I unloaded them. Sofia knew where they were."

Ah, so that __was__ where they'd been hiding, at least for most of the time Simon had been laying incapacitated.

"You trust she was truthful with you? That she wasn't concealing information out of loyalty to her uncle?"

"I __do__ trust her, Sir." Fool Bright came to a stop at the corner of the building, as did Simon by bumping into him lightly. "We had a little chat, her and I, down in the basement. After everything she was able to tell me, I can't imagine she's still loyal to him. She's... I know it sounds a little too __easy__ to say it, but I think she's gonna be okay. "

Simon could neither accept nor deny Fool Bright's statement. It was useful, helpful, and not at all surprising that Sofia was more forthcoming with Fool Bright than she had been with him, but... __oh__ , how he wished there hadn't been __more__ for her to share.

A spark of anger ignited within him, that Arturo was doing anything other than rotting in a prison, or even more favorable, the deepest pits of Hades.

His voice was hushed but not free of disdain. "Fool Bright, I almost hate to reprimand your ability as an officer, but I am confounded as to how you missed a target from such a close range."

"I wasn't shooting at him," replied Fool Bright at the same low volume.

"Well, __whatever__ you were shooting at, you certainly terrified the daylights out of me."

"Exactly."

" _ _Pardon__?!"

"Arturo did the same thing anyone would've if they heard a sudden gunshot out of nowhere; he was freaked out enough to try to figure out where the heck it was coming from, and he dropped his guard."

Simon considered this. It was clever, he had to admit, especially with the absence of other options they could've employed. Gunshots, he knew, were enough to trigger panic-filled flashbacks for many—he could perfectly understand the idea to use one as a means to simply __startle__.

"But why did you not just get Sofia out of here? You had the opportunity. You could have deposited her somewhere safe and come back with reinforcements to arrest him."

"No, I couldn't just __leave__ you here. Remember, you're __my__ responsibility. Something could have happened to you... something almost __did__." His non-shooting hand dropped momentarily to Simon's wrist, squeezing firmly.

"Oh, Fool Bright," Simon sighed, half-exasperated and half-pleased from the contact. "You should have let him shoot me. It would have been the very definition of irony: a man so detestable making the world a better place by ridding it of me."

"Not __my__ world, Sir." Fool Bright's grip slid lower, around Simon's wrist, and delivered another reassuring squeeze. "Besides, I need to subdue him somehow so he doesn't try and drive off—and not by just shooting him, before you suggest that again!"

Simon retracted his hand with a huff. "Bah. I was thinking more of carving him to ribbons with my blade."

"Where are you getting this katana from?! Because I sure didn't pack it along, and—"

A rumbling rolled beneath them—could it be Arturo's harried searching for these firearms Fool Bright had mentioned? Or, perhaps, for other items Sofia might have informed Fool Bright of, that would implicate him even further? Financial ledgers, lists of phone numbers, documents of that nature; Simon had no doubt Arturo was thoroughly organized when it came to his dastardly ways. The most evil ones usually were.

Fool Bright broke away from Simon, returning to a trained defensive stance as he inched his way towards the basement entrance, which was flung wide open. A little __too__ wide open and inviting.

"Wait." Simon grabbed Fool Bright's arm, a forward gesture that startled them both. "...You're not thinking of going in there by your own self, are you? I know you said you disabled his firearms, but still... there's a chance he may be armed somehow and..."

"And you're not... er, not really, anyway." His gaze strayed to the chain slung over Simon's shoulder as he nudged Simon off with his elbow, pushing him to stand aside the basement entrance. The open door shielded him from being seen by anyone exiting. "And I'm familiar with the basement too, and you're not. So stay here, and just stay vigilant. I'll call you down when I've got him, and you can chain him. Don't move from here, don't come down unless I __tell__ you to. Got it?"

Time was of the essence and Simon had __so__ much he could object to, but Fool Bright would just refute any and all of it by staking his commitment to justice. It was a useless venture, to say the least, much like this whole operation had been.

So he did the only halfway use _ _ful__ thing he could think of at the moment: he pulled Fool Bright close, kissing him short and sound.

"You... er... remain vigilant as well," he whispered across Fool Bright's mouth as he drew away ever-so-slightly.

"Of course!" And then, it was most peculiar how a phrase Simon had grown so horribly tired of hearing sounded fresh and wonderful when it was smiling and brushing his own lips. "In justice we trust."

* * *

As he stood stock still against the open basement door, Simon decided that he could never in a hundred lifetimes be an officer. It required a sense of proactiveness, which Fool Bright radiated and he did not.

Simon was much more content __reacting.__ Events had to come to pass before he found himself involved in them. More often than not, it was a product of being Aura's younger brother—what he had to say, what he thought; it had no bearing in anyone's life, so it was best to just "shut the fuck up already, Simon." It was only when he'd become a prosecutor and began working more closely with Cykes-sama that his self-worth had bloomed, and this—the past six years of __all this—__ was the only way he could ever come close to showing his reverence and gratitude.

But Fool Bright? He was always so __sure__ of things, of himself, and what's more, he didn't appear to be acquainted with the crushing disappointment that came with __failure__. He just kept on in his Fool Bright ways, regardless. For so long Simon had viewed this confidence as an enthusiastic simpleton's foolishness—hence, the nickname he'd rewarded Fool Bright with. But could it be strength?

Whatever it was, Simon found himself in great admiration of it—when it wasn't placing him beside himself with worry.

The shout of voices, the scraping of a struggle rustled Simon fully alert. Barely any time could have elapsed, and yet the rattling of his nerves were to an extreme that __must__ have taken several minutes to build. What could be preventing Fool Bright from calling for him?

Then, a much louder, splintering __crash__! that vaulted Simon's heart into his throat.

 _ _Damn__ Fool Bright, fussing over him so endlessly! It'd done nothing but cause reciprocative feelings on Simon's end; he had only himself to blame for what Simon was about to do.

Simon circled to the entrance, leaning over the corner to examine what he planned to descend into. He was met with a depthless dark.

For all of a full second, before he was slammed backwards by another body. It was instantly evident who had collided with him—only one of the men in the basement would be cowardly enough to be __retreating__.

Both of them went sprawling. Simon tripped back on his heels a few steps, managing to keep both his footing and possession of the shackles. Pinballed away in the opposite direction, Arturo stumbled forward to his knees with an anguished cry, his back to Simon.

Raging instinct—and an admittedly undignified thirst for revenge—cancelled out all the wrenching pain he was experiencing.

Whipping the chain off his shoulder and swinging it like one would a scythe, Simon's presence of mind was rewarded with a direct hit. A sickening and satisfying __clang__ resounded, the heavy manacle hammering the back of Arturo's head and dropping him facefirst to the ground.

Without hesitation, Simon brought his foot down squarely onto Arturo's back, heel grinding viciously with his full weight in every effort to prevent the cretin from slithering away again like the serpent he was.

"Sir...?!" Fool Bright called worriedly from the basement before emerging from the entrance, holding his left shoulder. His concern softened to gratefulness when he saw Arturo laying prostrate on the grass under Simon's foot, the crown of his head discolored from a freshly seeping wound. "Thank you, Sir... All that swordplay paid off, huh!"

His smile, however, wasn't a Fool Bright smile in the least. It was teetering closely to a grimace.

"Fool Bright, are you..." Obviously he was not 'okay', but Simon didn't want that to be confirmed. His Fool Bright, he __had__ to be...

Fool Bright shook his head; he wasn't going to accept Simon's questioning, not now. He nodded down at Arturo's collapsed form, and withdrew the key to the manacles from the pocket of his khakis. "Could you...?"

Simon didn't have to be asked twice. He knelt and made no attempt to be gentle as he locked Arturo's right wrist in a shackle, as tight and uncomfortable as possible. He remained on heightened alert for any sudden movements; what had once been a weapon was now a restraint.

But all Arturo did was moan pitifully as Simon secured the other manacle to the basement door's iron handle. And again, a little louder, when Simon shoved him up into a sitting position the caused his head to knock violently against the door. Blood flecked the wooden surface, remnants from the blow he received.

Simon fought the urge to shake him, again and again like a ragdoll and until his head cracked open like an egg. Let him bleed out, wallow in an unending misery. For all it mattered, let him __die__ right here, his last image being that of Simon's scowling visage.

Oh, but he just __couldn't__. There was nothing noble in striking down such a pathetic foe. For how would Arturo know the suffering and despair he'd tortured his niece with, if Simon eliminated him now? Based on his status, he was likely fated to time in a Mexican prison. That, plus his crime of soliciting a minor, Simon could only hypothesize of what horrors awaited Arturo.

Furthermore, they'd meet again someday in the fires of Hell. And Simon would have all of eternity to dole out the punishment he was aching to distribute at present.

The thought cut a black grin across his face, one that straightened out after he rose to his feet and moved back to a wincing Fool Bright.

"I think... I think my shoulder's..." While he didn't move it, he was concentrating intensely in an attempt to. "He pushed me back __really__ hard when he escaped, and my shoulder hit the edge of one of the beams, and... I'm pretty sure it's dislocated."

"You require medical attention." Simon tucked down the collar of Fool Bright's polo, which had folded up amidst the battle. "Let's search the office and see if we can acquire a first-aid kit or some sort of—"

"Look who's talking!" Fool Bright gently pushed Simon's hand away, nodding to Simon's lacerated brow. "Hey, don't worry about me right now. Let's just go check on Sofia. Help should be here soon!"

"Fool Bright—" Simon started to protest, before having no choice but to follow Fool Bright as he rounded to the front of property and across the lot. Not once did he turn to address Simon, the whole time acting as if he were not even there.

As if he had this all under control.

* * *

Sofia noticed both of them almost immediately, frantically waving them over from the passenger seat. Fool Bright opened the driver's side door, and the moment he did so, her frustrations came spilling out.

"I tried, I really did. I was trying the whole time, and I was doing it right, I swear!"

"Whoa, slow down, it's okay! I'm sure you were," Fool Bright attempted to reassure her. "Sometimes it takes a while to get a response."

Sofia shook her head. "No, it's just like I told you. It's so far out..."

Simon had no idea what the two were talking about until he spotted the dispatch radio resting in Sofia's hand. Much like Fool Bright's phone, it was likely that their current location was so far removed from civilization that communication—radio, or otherwise—was not an option.

Fool Bright muttered to himself unintelligibly, in thought for a couple seconds before perking up. "Hey, it's alright! Time for Plan B!"

"That __was__ Plan B!" Simon cut in. The 'B' clearly standing for 'Barely a plan at all'.

"Okay, Plan C then! Simon will drive you to safety, or at least somewhere one of you can use the dispatch, and I'll wait here. He can do it if you're too nervous, okay? He's seen me do it before and—"

"No! Fool Bright, are you mad?! I can't __drive,__ it's been nearly seven years since I've commandeered __anything__." Simon had had his driver's license for all of six months at the time of his arrest, and handling a compact Nissan versus Fool Bright's cruiser, he knew, would be the equivalent of turning in his prosecutor's badge for that of a defense attorney's.

Still clutching his shoulder, Fool Bright spared Simon a glance—one with an uncharacteristically grave frown. "You're the only one of us who __can__ drive, Sir. All I'm asking is that you get her to safety." He turned back to Sofia, his smile hitching back up. "Keep an eye on him, he likes to misbehave."

Sofia murmured her assent beside him, and that was apparently enough for Fool Bright. With his trademark grin still intact, he backed away, then headed towards the motel.

For several seconds, Simon stood paralyzed with disbelief before taking off after Fool Bright. He caught up just before Fool Bright disappeared around the corner they'd originally trekked down together.

"This is your __plan__?! For me to leave you here injured, with such a menacing individual?"

"Okay, what do __you__ think we should do, then?" His tone declared he had absolutely __no__ desire to hear any more of Simon's plans, at this point. Here was a different Fool Bright than the one Simon regularly saw: one with an edge to him—which Simon, or __anyone,__ would have also exuded, had they just been wounded so severely. "We agreed from the beginning, what's most important is that she's __safe__."

"Well, yes, I understand that. Of course, but—"

"—And the only way to get help at this point is to actually go and __get it__! I know it's not ideal, but I wouldn't let __anyone__ go and drive my cruiser! I'm not even __allowed__ to. I'm gonna be in a __ton__ of trouble after this but... I'll worry about that when it happens. You told me to trust you, and I __do__ , and right now, that's why I'm... I'm asking you to do the same. For justice's sake."

Simon didn't respond, nor did he budge an inch. All he did was stare, unblinking, at Fool Bright.

"Get her to safety, Sir," Fool Bright repeated calmly, as if they were speaking of the topic for the first time, and it was enough to launch Simon into a heated fit.

"Dammit, you... you imbecile! No! Absolutely not, not when you're...!" Simon motioned to Fool Bright's arm, wanting to grab him the way he himself had been grabbed in the car just several hours ago. He had trained himself to always keep collected, poised regardless of whatever external factors presented themselves, but this maelstrom of emotions storming within him—he had reached his limit. "I __can't__. You didn't leave without me, therefore __I__ can't go off—"

"I'm not __asking__ you, Sir! This isn't a testimony for you to pick apart!" For the first time since being injured, he removed his right hand from his shoulder. It gripped tight in Simon's shirt collar, and he took off walking towards the car, sending Simon stumbling backwards along with him. "This is a __police order__!"

" _ _Fool Bright__!" Simon flailed and smacked, but even a titanium blade would have failed to penetrate Fool Bright's tenacious hold.

"Get in the car, Mr. Simon." Sofia's voice rang out behind him, and Simon craned to see the driver's side door ajar, awaiting an occupant.

"You heard her, Sir."

"No!" Simon swung his arms, trying to force Fool Bright away, but he had little range of motion and only succeeded in a dull useless thump on Fool Bright's elbow. The next thing he knew, he had been shoved unceremoniously into the driver's seat, the door slamming shut and barking his shin.

He pounded his fists on the window to no avail as a grinding whir signified Sofia starting the ignition.

" _ _Fool Bright__!" He knew that ignoramus could hear him, but there he stood right outside the car with an expression of triumph, all the while acting as if he couldn't.

What Fool Bright did do was salute him, accompanied by words Simon couldn't hear through the white noise filling his head.

But he knew exactly what was being said.

Simon's eyes stung as his hand uncurled, drawing to his bloodstained temple in a limp, half-hearted salute of his own, a confirmation in lieu of words that wouldn't come. The only thing he __could__ get out was a choked gasp as Sofia snatched his hand down and placed it on the two o'clock position on the steering wheel.

He turned, met by a hard stare blazing with life Simon hadn't fathomed could still be smoldering inside her. It pierced straight into him, as did her equally unbreakable tone when she shifted the gear from Park to—

" _ _Drive.__ "


	7. Chapter 7

"You just tried it like a minute ago!"

Simon cursed as the dispatch crackled mockingly, supporting Sofia's statement. She'd been nothing but oppositional each time he tried and tried again to radio out to nearby officers.

"Just keep __driving.__ I know where we need to go. And forget about the radio, already! I told you, this area is shit for signals, even radio. That's why my uncle chose it for his motel and—"

She stopped abruptly when Simon swore again and threw the receiver aside. It'd been perhaps twenty minutes since they'd left the motel, but Simon already considered it far too long, both time-wise and physically for him to be apart from Fool Bright.

The driving in itself hadn't been as difficult as he'd thought, as he was too worried about Fool Bright to succumb to any nerves that might have hindered him otherwise. The real problem lay in that he could not plan what he was supposed to do __after__ driving. He and Sofia would report the crimes that had taken place, and Fool Bright requiring backup as well as medical assistance, but then what?

"You're certain we'll arrive at this destination soon?" The little gauge notifying him the gas was empty had been pointing to E since their departure. Yes, there was the container in the trunk Fool Bright had bought, but Simon didn't want to waste precious time refilling, if at all possible.

"Yeah. I betcha we'll even be within radio range in just a bit, but we have to __go__ there. Okay, we need to actually __be__ there before we alert the cops."

Simon wasn't so sure the cops wouldn't be alerted themselves, if an out-of-state cruiser was reported driving rather erratically, and with a teenager in the front seat. "Where is 'there'?"

"You'll see when we get there."

"You do realize, Sofia, given your uncle's actions, I advise you to be more forthcoming. I'm not saying I don't trust you, but right now I'm not in the mood to have important information concealed from me."

"I don't..." Once again, she was the frightened girl who never spent much time being a girl at all. Her voice became small, guarded. "I don't want to talk about it... just! Please, just keep driving, I swear this is where we need to go. I want to help you and your cop friend, okay?"

" _ _We__ are trying to help __you__. I understand, your world has been turned upside-down and this is a lot to absorb and it may feel best to just __act__." It was so necessary Simon keep a cool head, but when his was pounding in pain, it taxed his patience to do so. "But that is no reason for you to take all this upon yourself. The truth remains that, the longer we're unable to send backup to Detective Fulbright—who seriously injured his shoulder, in case you hadn't gathered—the more disconcerting this whole situation becomes, for all of us."

"You know, it's really sweet you're so worried about him. Your cop... __friend__." She used the phrase for a second time, but this time there was a teasing in her tone, that she meant __'friend'__ as anything but.

"I am no such thing! I mean... of __course__ I..." Damn it all, he shouldn't be even in the __least__ worried about Fool Bright. Or, appear that way to anyone of the general public. He was a convict, who should be thrilled beyond words that the officer transporting him was entangled in an ordeal that left Simon free to do whatever he wished—including escape. "He is neither __my__ cop, nor my 'friend'! He— ...Listen, I have not driven in quite some time, so I would appreciate if you would not distract me with these outlandish accusations."

A silent minute or two passed, which Simon would have gladly heard filled with the disappointing static of the dispatch, for how awkward it was.

"He was really worried about __you__ , ya know. He told me he couldn't leave you behind. Like, he sounded almost like he was gonna cry."

"Tch. Now __that__ , I believe; he is nothing but an overemotional, irritatingly dedicated fool." __His__ fool. Neither his cop nor his friend, but his Fool Bright. Simon feared there was a touch of fondness in his previous statement, and made to cover it up with an ample amount of scorn. "And you're telling me this because... ? It's supposed to __mean__ something to me?"

"Well, if __I__ were in your shoes, and __my__ cop was so worried about me, then yeah, it __would__ mean some—"

"For the last time, he is not 'my' cop!"

"Okay, so... if he's not, then... are you really on death row? Are you really even a prisoner at __all__? I mean, I believe he's a cop and everything; he showed me his badge."

Simon scoffed audibly. Of course Fool Bright did.

"But you... are you sure it's not some weird roleplay, fetish-type thing? That you like being his prisoner, or something? You don't have to be ashamed, I've had to... had to take part in crazier ones, and—"

"Silence!" Simon snapped at her, face burning at discussing this so candidly—and at the suggestion of such fantasies. Ones that had, admittedly, entered his mind on nights when certain urges grew too unbearable to not take care of himself. "First of all, that is the type of revolting information you need to tell an officer and not me. And second of all, I... it is not... you've quite an overactive imagination, do you know that?!"

"Well, it's not my imagination that you already had some hickeys on your neck when I was kissing you earlier. And you're the one who said you hadn't been with a girl in a long time. It'd explain why you were so freaked out over touching me earlier, if you'd rather be getting nailed by some—"

"I am a __murderer__ , Sofia!" Visions of that fateful day on the stand flashed through his mind. His confession came rushing back to him with crystal clarity, and he repeated it with the same dangerous edge. "I took the life of my mentor, to prevent her from continuing to abuse her daughter. Fool Bright is __nothing__ to me, and at most, we have an... an __alliance,__ which will end once I'm executed. That is strictly __all__ it is."

"Whatever."

Simon couldn't help himself from getting a jab in. "Ah, the common rebuttal of the teen-aged girl." He had heard that word sneered many a time, having grown up with Aura.

"Oh, shut up."

"Gladly. You shall do the same, and speak up only to inform me when to turn off to... wherever this 'here' is that we are driving to."

"Turn here," she repeated back to him.

"Yes, precisely."

"No. __Turn here__." She motioned wildly at an off-ramp that, according to the sign posted beside it, led to a large campground and lake.

Though Simon rarely apologized for his behavior, he would have to do so to Fool Bright, for being such a disruptive passenger, now that he had played the part of distracted navigator.

Only, he wondered as he steered the cruiser along the wending path that bordered the campground, if and when the opportunity would present itself.

The only thing that bolstered his confidence was the lasting image of Fool Bright, releasing his injured arm long enough to salute Simon. Exactly how Simon wanted to remember him, if they were not to be reunited any time soon.

In justice, he would trust.

But even justice couldn't keep a car running on an empty gas tank. The cruiser stalled, and sputtered out, coming to a complete halt in the middle of a dirt road back behind the campground entrance, blocking it to any other traffic.

"Close enough! Come on, follow me." Throwing open the passenger door, Sofia climbed out and didn't even wait for Simon as he retrieved his backpack from behind the driver's seat. She sped off deeper into the woods, away from the campsite, towards what he guessed could be the direction of the lake.

"Hoy! Sofia!" He caught up to her easily, spotting her black mane in the dim purpled backdrop of the early morning. "You're positive you know where you're going?"

"Yes!" She whirled on him, her voice a growl overflowing with frustration. "Just __stop__ questioning me! God, why couldn't your cop have come with me? At least he didn't treat me like a kid; he actually freakin' listened to what I had to say."

It should have stung, but there was so much hurting Simon more at the moment. "You __are__ a child! You—!"

Simon stopped upon realizing Sofia was crying, again. Because she __was__ a child. Defenseless. Trapped. She didn't want to hear it, though. Didn't want to believe it.

He inched closer to her, thinking better than to try and reassure her with physical contact. Swinging the backpack around so he could unzip it, he found a pocket pack of Kleenex and the bag of red licorice. He withdrew one of each from their packages, and Sofia accepted them.

After blowing her nose quite loudly, she snacked down the licorice with a sort of disgusted twist in her expression. "Red licorice is pretty gross. But... thanks. __Gracias__."

A ghost of a smile pulled at Simon's lips. "You're quite welcome. Now, are you prepared to lead? Because I am ready to follow, wherever you may go."

Sofia nodded, but didn't move in any direction. Suddenly, she launched herself at Simon, slender arms flying around his middle in a hug. She all but headbutted him in doing so, her face burying into the chest of his grimy sweatshirt.

It was uncomfortable to say the least, with how brutally sore his ribs were. But he didn't complain, didn't pull away. He placed a hand gently atop her head, unsure what else to do with his other arm but to loosely circle it around her. And he wondered if she'd __ever__ received contact like this: purely platonic, caring. Supportive.

She slipped out of the hug with a great sniffling inhale, and pushed back the hair that had fallen across her face. Then she turned, facing the sunrise. The rising light of day reflected in her damp eyes, and the same brightness shone in her declaration of "This way."

* * *

No chains, only half of his prison uniform, no lunk-headed officer trailing him—well, maybe that part wasn't as satisfying as it might have once been. Simon would never be this free again, and yet, there was no enjoyment in it.

They trekked on for another ten minutes, the scenery unchanging. Simon had lost whatever little sense of location he'd obtained, only certain they were heading east given the direction from which the early morning sun poked its rays through the trees.

"Sofia, would you mind at least tell me what or who it is you're seeking?" Simon asked as he palmed a low tree branch away from his forehead. "I'm only asking because I think it best we work together as much as possible."

The fresh morning air, the time to collect herself and her thoughts must have helped her relax. There was no defiance in her words when she answered him. "You wouldn't believe me if I explained it. Just keep following me. You'll see."

Simon was about to demand she quit making such assumptions, when the trail spilled out to the lakefront quite suddenly—they were surrounded by foliage and shadows, and then, they were not. It was awe-inspiring in its beauty, so vivid and sparkling. Taka would adore flying around here, and Simon wished it were a viable request to ask of Aura, for when he no longer held claim as the hawk's closest companion.

"There! I knew it!" Sofia shouted back to him, before dashing off into the distance, towards a vacant and somewhat dilapidated dock jutting out from the water's edge.

"Sofia!"

Simon hadn't run in __years__. Adding to that his battered state and the weight of the backpack, he quickly fell behind. He staggered to a disoriented stop several feet short of a band of gritty sand where Sofia currently stood, impatient.

"What the hell.." He gulped in air, hunched with his hands on his knees for support. "This is... this is __nowhere__ , this is..."

"Let's go for a swim!" Sofia reached for him, attempting to unsaddle him of the backpack. One strap was halfway down his shoulder before he fought her off.

"What the hell are you on about?! This is not a __vacation__!"

"No shit, but make it __look__ like it is." Giving up on the backpack, she inched closer to the water, toes curling as it buffeted her ankles. She glanced back at Simon, expression falling back to that tragically frail line between fear and strength. "Mr. Simon, __please__ , at least just sit on the dock or something, pretend you're here with... do you have any siblings?"

"A sister."

"Well, pretend you're here chilling with her, or something."

Right, which would mostly involve Aura mocking how translucently pale he was and trying to pants him (and likely succeeding). Or, that is how it would have been when they were younger. Now?

He'd never know, so he didn't bother thinking on it. Instead, he lowered himself to the dock and dropped his feet into the lake water, which was as icy as he would have expected this early in the day. After a moment or two, it became soothing, and Simon rolled up the legs of his prison slacks to expose them to the same lapping comfort.

Sofia had moved to stand beside Simon, and she smiled over at him. "Good," she said, before taking a deep breath and then a running leap off the dock's end.

Before Simon could get over the shock of what she'd just done, Sofia burst through the water's surface, whipping her hair back as though she fancied herself in a movie. Her top was all but transparent, clinging to her frame and, unnervingly, leaving nothing to the imagination. Simon made a quick mental note to lend her his sweatshirt when she was back on dry land.

"Keep on the lookout and let me know if you see anyone, alright? Anyone at all. Park rangers would be great, but just... anyone will do." She swiped at a section of hair still stuck near her eyes, then kept paddling in place. "Hopefully this won't take too long."

"What are you up to?"

"I told you, you'll __see__."

" _ _No__ , you will—Sofia!" She vanished underwater again, and when she reappeared not a minute later, Simon finished his question. "What happened to reporting the crime at the motel? To having help sent to Fulbright?"

"Okay, so what, we're just going to run into a park ranger's office looking like this? Some beat-up little Mexican girl and a creepy goth? You think they're gonna listen to anything we have to say?"

Creepy? __Goth__? Hmph, well, he'd heard worse. "And you using this lake for a leisurely swim will inspire a different outcome?"

Sofia didn't answer him, only inhaled again and disappeared beneath the water. Simon watched with intent as she would emerge, draw in another deep breath, and plummet back under the surface, clearly with a goal in mind.

After two more attempts, and no results, Sofia let out a cry of frustration. With it, she slapped at the water, sprinkling Simon in the process.

He fixed her with a narrowed glare. "Are you sure we oughtn't abandon this plan of yours?"

"No. It's just stuck, and I—"

"'Stuck'? What is stuck? Shall I help you or—"

"No!" she insisted. "You're keeping an eye out for the rangers, right?"

Simon automatically scanned the horizon for a split second, then looked back at her. "Yes, but—"

"Then you're helping. God, I figured they'd be all over the place, but I guess it's still kind of early."

"You're familiar with this park?" She'd made it a point for Simon to drive here in particular, and seemed to know the general layout, so she must have been here at some point in the recent past. But Simon couldn't imagine her repulsive uncle bringing her here for a fun family outing.

"I came here for a biology class field trip at the beginning of the school year. We were supposed to take soil samples, all the different kinds that are around the lake, y'know? "

"Yes, I believe so." Right. She'd mentioned being able to attend school, receive an education she might not have if she were still with the rest of her family.

"Well, there's a ranger station right on the other side of the lake, behind those trees. I remember because there was this park ranger lurking around, and he had this seventies-ish 'stache." She grinned at Simon, tracing the mustache's shape along her lip. "And he had like, those super-tight brown ranger shorts on. You could totally see the outline of his—"

"Enough!" Simon cut her off. It was so bizarre to hear her speaking so much like a teenager, when she spent the better part of her days charading as an adult. Releasing an exasperated sigh, Simon let his eyes slide shut. They remained closed for a few more moments, as he found keeping the intensifying sunlight out of them helped to ease his headache.

"What, you imagining your cop friend in a pair of them?"

Simon's eyes shot open. His attempt to kick a spray of water at Sofia failed, as she just laughed and disappeared underwater, returning to her mission. As she swam around, Simon formulated the tongue-lashing he would give her when she resurfaced. It was disposed of when she burst forth with a squeal of exhilaration and her arm extended high and triumphant. The object being waved about, Simon couldn't make out until she swum over and held it out to him.

"Got it," she grinned, blinking up at Simon. Thick clumps of her hair stuck about her neck, shoulders, as if molded there; this was, if only an infinitesimal bit, __fun__ for her, the swimming and diving. A fleeting smile involuntarily twitched back in return, Simon's bewilderment at what was in his hand now overpowering any will he might have had to offer anything fuller.

A key. With an arrowhead keychain quite similar to the one Fool Bright had been given when they'd arrived.

"It's a master key," Sofia explained. " _ _Tío__ has one, and I have one. Er, had one. This one. Until I left it here."

" _ _Left__ it? Did you lose it while with your class?" Simon turned it over in his fingers. It was grimy, stank of the lake's sediment and something else Simon couldn't place.

"No, I didn't __lose__ it _ _.__ I just told you, I left it here." A pause, just long enough for Simon to anticipate this was all about to get worse before it got better. "On the body."

Dread expanded in Simon's stomach, nearly as painful as the ache in his ribs. "The..." he swallowed, hoping he'd heard her wrong.

Until another whiff of the keychain reached him, and that's when he knew what it was he'd been unable to identify.

Decaying flesh.

"Yeah, the body." Sofia confirmed, a crack in her voice. "Of the cop who came snooping around the motel a couple weeks ago."

Simon's throat tightened. A gag forced his other hand to his mouth, not that there was anything to bring up. He always spoke so casually of his own imminent death but to be this close to someone else's—someone who could have been Fool Bright...

He knew now, why she reminded him so very much of Athena, beyond just being a young, spirited girl with so much to live for. That hollowness in her eyes when they'd first met—she had seen so much, __too__ much more than she ever should have, thus having that spirit broken, mangled. Everything but completely stolen away.

And her treatment at the hands of her uncle and his loathsome clients hadn't been all of it.

Death. No, that was hardly the definition of what she'd witnessed.

Rage. Hatred. Destruction.

He wanted to ask her what she'd told Fool Bright in her short time with him, about this corpse in the lake—because she had to've; this would have been where they would have devised to make off to. But all that came out was a low, breaking, "Oh... There..." as off in the distance behind Sofia, Simon could make out a moving, brown-clothed figure emerging from the copse of trees near another dock. A ranger, perhaps.

Sofia followed his gaze, turning to check, and then looked back at him, her grin returning with a vengeance. "Great. Don't lose that," she said, motioning to the key still grasped tight in Simon's hand. "Now just play along okay?"

If by "play along", Sofia meant for Simon to sit there on the dock in unseeing confusion as she began screaming wildly for help, for someone to hurry, that there was a __body__...

That's precisely what he did.


	8. Chapter 8

It was half past seven. If he were still in prison, Simon would be eating breakfast consisting of greasy sausage patties, runny eggs and orange juice that was more yellow than orange and more syrup than juice.

But today, his morning meal was off-brand black tea in a styrofoam cup and handfuls of craisins. All Ranger Parker had to provide, as Sofia and Simon sat in his office and spoke of the events leading up to the discovery of the body.

Well, Sofia was the one who relayed everything to the ranger. Simon sat in silence, watching the clock on the wall behind Ranger Parker. Periodically his gaze would wander to the poster hanging below it, that advertised the dangers of forest fires, along with an anthropomorphic moose enthusing how only __he__ , Simon, could prevent them.

He doubted very much he had such ability, but it made him laugh under his breath, the slogan did. For whatever reason (probably the fixed determination in the mascot's expression), he couldn't __not__ read it in Fool Bright's voice.

He and Sofia were seated side-by-side in two chairs across from Ranger Parker's desk, against a wall and not but a few steps from the office's only door. Sofia had found a way to contort herself that her feet were off the ground, knees bent into the chair. Like a koala clinging to a tree, both her arms circled Simon's upper one and she used it as a pillow, cheek planted against it. Her hair had soaked his sweatshirt through, but he hadn't the heart to push her away, not as she prattled off her explanation of what had transpired through sniffles and choked sobs.

It was just as much for his benefit as for Ranger Parker. Presumably, she trusted Simon to be smart enough to pick up the most important pieces of her statement, and corroborate everything. Although, it all made a great deal of sense, that he didn't expect it to be met with any skepticism. She and Simon had just been at the lakefront admiring the sunrise, and, after being dared to jump in with her clothes on...

Here they were. Sofia wrapped in a fleece throw blanket, frightened beyond belief at her feet having skimmed over a decomposing body.

"I just don't want to get in trouble, y'know?" She had repeated this several times throughout her conversation with the ranger. For how put on her performance was, Simon had no doubt in authenticity of her fear surrounding this possibility.

"You won't," Parker reassured her. "You did the right thing, alerting us. We appreciate how helpful you're being, alright?"

If they only knew.

"Mmkay..." She detached from Simon, sitting up straight about in the blanket. "Not to change the subject, but um... is there like, a bathroom or anything, around here?"

Simon spared her a meaningful glance, wondering if she was up to something, but then spied the empty cup in her hand. The hot water Parker had brewed through the coffee maker for Simon's tea had also been used for instant apple cider for Sofia, and she'd put away two packets already. And they certainly hadn't stopped anywhere on the way.

There were public restrooms around the corner and some hundred feet from his office, Parker told her. So Sofia started to the door, blanket still draped over her. Though he hadn't used it in years, never imagined he'd use it again, he adopted a brotherly tone with her without second thought. "Sofia, don't... don't drag the blanket around. Especially to a restroom." Simon looked over to the ranger. "Have you anything __else__ she can cover herself with?"

Ranger Parker hunched down, searching through a file cabinet for a few moments before coming up with an adult-sized tee.

"Here." He handed it to Sofia, smiling. "We have extras from our training with the National Park Service."

It was sky blue, and featured the same slogan and fuzzy mascot from the forest fire poster. Ah, right, Matches the Moose, as the neon pink bubble letters screen-printed above the beast proudly stated.

Taking the shirt, Sofia turned from the men and slipped it on; it hung down past her shorts. She folded the short sleeves up, perhaps an attempt at fashion.

"Be right back!" She flashed Simon a smile and a sharp two-finger salute that he knew was referencing Fool Bright, but was meant for the ranger to see simply as a spunky teenage girl. Anything to further the image of her as a normal, __innocent__ bystander.

A minute, if that, passed, silent except for the quiet slurp of Parker taking a drink from his mug (which, unsurprisingly, featured Matches the Moose) of instant cocoa. Though Simon wasn't paying him any mind, he could feel Parker's eyes on him, and wasn't caught off-guard when the ranger spoke first. "You've been awfully quiet."

"And you would be too, if your annoying little sister dragged you out for a swim at the crack of dawn before you even had a chance to drink your morning tea. And now, __this__." Simon nodded, meaning to indicate the events of the past hour. "I dare say it's actually a Monday, for how much the world seems to be conspiring against me."

His attempt at levity was hardly effective. Ranger Parker blew a little laugh through his nose, but appeared otherwise unamused. "Well, you're getting caffeinated now." He motioned to the faintly steaming cup in Simon's hand.

"Yes, and I thank you. So, I..." Simon began, then paused, trying to quickly decide how to go about wrapping this up. He had a few precious minutes to size up Parker on his own, without Sofia, and to decide what should be done next. Because whatever Sofia was scheming, it hadn't involved reporting the situation at the motel to anyone, and therefore didn't sit quite right. "I'm sorry, it's all still rather shocking. I never... this is not how I thought I would be spending my Sunday morning. I would like to help however possible, though."

"Okay, well, let's start with your name, again. I didn't quite catch it earlier." And he wouldn't have, not through Sofia's frantic, teary-eyed introduction of Simon as her stepbrother.

To further paint Sofia as the victim in all this, Simon could easily manipulate it to seem __he__ was the mastermind in all this. When the truth revealed itself, she would just be a spoony little girl, enamored with the thrill of aiding an older man willing to shower her with attention.

But he had to be careful; could not expose everything too soon. Just throw the ranger a few breadcrumbs, simultaneously creating a safe passage for Sofia as he himself crept in the opposite direction, back to the fate that came bound to the duty he'd sworn to Cykes-sama.

"Simon. Simon Blackquill."

Parker showed no recognition, as Simon expected. Though notorious throughout Los Angeles, and receiving national attention at the time, Simon's trial had long since been forgotten anywhere outside southern California. Still, Simon's aloofness and disheveled appearance must have sparked some sort of suspicion on Ranger Parker's part.

"You have any ID on you, Simon Blackquill?"

"Not on my person, but if you've the need to obtain it, my car is parked—unlocked, might I add—close to the easternmost entrance of the grounds, off the beaten path." It was true; Fool Bright had all sorts of documentation in the glove compartment. "A Dodge Charger, the only one there. You can't miss it."

"Will do," Parker said, scribbling on the notepad. He scanned it over for a few moments. "So, would you mind telling me what happened this morning."

"Why for? Sofia explained quite accurately—though terribly dramatically, and for that, I apologize—what occurred while we were at the lake." Simon took another sip of tea, knowing perfectly well __why__. Because Sofia'd been so terrorized, it was entirely plausible she was misremembering something. But he had to play the part of ignorant, everyday witness. Not a well-read student of law.

"You were both present," Parker replied calmly. "It's just standard procedure, I take statements from all involved."

"Ah, I see." Simon did not agree with __how__ Sofia was going about all this, but there was no reason for him to discredit what she'd already told the ranger. "Well, it really is all exactly how she described it. We'd been there... oh, not very long. Perhaps ten minutes? Anyway, yes, I dared her to jump into the lake, not expecting her to follow through, yet she did. And while she swam about, I paced around lake's er... beach, I suppose one would call it. That's where I found the key."

"Any idea where the key might be from?"

"No," Simon answered immediately, purposefully, doing his best to maintain the facade as inconvenienced older brother. "Although, no, wait, I... well, it's not a car key of any sort, I could tell that much. We thought it just might be to some building on the premises. Anyway, she wanted to see it, so I walked down along the dock, then tossed it out to her. A little too far, too hard, it seems, because she missed, and that's when she dove underwater after it, and... here we are."

Ranger Parker gave a small nod. Simon continued to glance about the office, trying to learn what he could. It was populated with enough appurtenances to suggest this was a home away from home for Ranger Parker. His open fondness for Matches the Moose, whose stuffie likeness sat perched upon the guidebook-crammed bookshelf in the far corner, showed a man with a child's heart, not unlike Fool Bright.

No, certainly __not__ unlike Fool Bright; just kind in a most uncomplicated way, that Simon could easily see the two befriending each other.

Ranger Parker picked up his mug again, and Simon spotted the Sunday paper it had been setting on. It was bloated to the gills with coupon flyers. Simon started to reach for them, the thin strands of a plan, divergent from Sofia's, beginning to twine together. "Might I see those?"

"Sure." Parker handed Simon the circulars, and pressed on. "Simon, I have to ask: did either of you happen to __see__ the body?"

"Not..." __Not this morning.__ "No."

"Would anything besides Sofia's reaction lead you to believe there __is__ one?"

Simon frowned, glancing up from a mail-order ad for collector china plates. "I'm not sure I take your meaning."

"Okay, well, I'll be frank with you: we get a lot of kids—you're not a kid, but I mean, your sister's age—who think it's fun and games to mess with us. To waste our time."

Oh, bloody hell, Parker hadn't even reported the body yet. There was no __we__ , no, because there weren't any other officers here, or even en route. And if Simon's identity was discovered before the corpse was pulled out, or before assistance was sent to Fool Bright, who could guess how this would unfold? The only certainty would be Sofia not having any sort of protection, or __safety__ , as he and Fool Bright had vowed she would. He __had__ to ensure that when they parted ways, he could be fully confident she was facing something resembling a promising future.

He had to.

"Sofia would not fabricate this for the sole sake of entertainment, and I don't appreciate the insinuation that she would. I know her." It took a conscious effort on Simon's part to not crumple the styrofoam cup in his grip. "If she says she saw a body at the lake's bottom, then I believe her."

"I'm not trying to accuse her of anything, Simon." Parker, for the first time, appeared uneasy. But his voice stayed even. "Of course, I don't want there to be a dead body in the lake, but I __want__ to believe her. Really. I want to help, to my absolute fullest ability. Please, understand that."

"Yes, I'm trying. I apologize, again. I..." He started, then deliberately stopped, hoping he appeared in deep concentration, stalling only to puzzle out something that only __just__ occurred to him.

"What? Did you think of something?" Parker poised his pen at the ready.

"Er, I don't know... but what about the __key__? That is, if it isn't property of the park's, and was coincidentally found so close to the dock... couldn't it have fallen off the body while it was being disposed."

Parker did not jot down Simon's statement. He slowly placed the pen down, interlacing his fingers together and leaning towards Simon slightly.

"How do you know the body was __disposed of__?"

Excellent. What he'd been aiming for. "I... I don't __know__ anything, it is all a conclusion I've reached based on the circumstances under which the body was discovered. It was close to the dock, and fairly shallow, so, I can't quite envision someone __drowned,__ if that's what you hypothesize might've happened." Simon could sense his tone becoming bolder, but could not curb it, not when the deceased officer was yet more blood on the hands of Sofia's wicked uncle. "And besides, if it was someone out swimming or boating, would they not have been reported missing, thus a search being conducted? As you are so reluctant to accept Sofia's claim, I'm to assume you've not had any reports of missing visitors. So it must be some sort of foul play, one would think."

Parker straightened back in his chair, wearing an expression no longer skeptical, but quite the opposite; he was thoroughly convinced Simon was more than just Sophia's older stepbrother.

"Any further questions?" Simon asked, brows arching momentarily, a challenge to Parker to dare continue disputing Simon's observations.

Parker's "no" was intruded upon by the office door opening, and without so much as a "hello," Sofia was shuffling over to Simon and dropping to her knees in front of him, tearing through the navy backpack.

"Hey, um..." She seemed terribly sheepish, and scooted closer to Simon. After a glance back at Parker, she lowered her voice and muttered something that sounded like, "Sorry, I kind of need um..."

She trailed off, zipping open every pocket of the backpack and ridding it of all its contents, in some sort of rush. Her only hesitation was upon finding Simon's __Sailor Scouts__ manga, which led to her peeking up at him and biting back a giggle.

"What are you searching for?" Simon demanded, feeling his own face grow warmer.

"My __stuff.__ Y'know, my little plaid bag, with my __stuff__ in it."

Her... __oh__. Simon played along, not sure if she was being truthful. He did his best to appear uncomfortable with the topic, although was rather desensitized to it, having grown up with an older sister who had no reservations sharing (often too much) information about cramps, or her flow, or other such details. "You didn't leave it in the car?"

"No, last I had it out was... __shit__ , I must have left it at the motel!"

Oh. __Oh__. So that's what she was trying to do...

"There's your karma for laughing when I fell while biking yesterday." Simon tapped the laceration rimming his brow. He knew the ranger had eyed his injury more than once; this was a quick chance to slip in an explanation. His finger came away with a blackish, scabby residue.

"It's not funny!"

"I didn't say I was amused, Sofia," Simon replied, looking over at Ranger Parker. "You see, this explains the hysterics, aside from simply being a teenager."

"Sofia, if you need—" Parker began, but Sofia interrupted him, clearly having given up on appealing to Simon.

"Ranger Parker, would you be able to like, drive me back to the hotel really quick?" she pleaded, twisting the hem of her over-sized shirt. "And if you have any other questions, or anything, I can answer them on the way."

"Oh, Sofia, until the investigation is further along, I'm sorry, but I can't allow you off the park's property."

Because she was a minor, and an adult directly responsible for her was under suspicion, Simon knew. But Parker wouldn't tell her that. _ ___

"But I had other stuff in there too, in the bag, like my favorite earrings! They used to be my _ _abuela__ 's, and what if someone takes them! What if they get thrown away or—"

"I'm sorry, Sofia. I can't bring you there, but we can arrange to have someone pick them up soon. I need you to wait here, okay? Just for a little bit. In the meantime, I can bring you back some pads when I return, to hold you over. And there's a first-aid kit here." Parker moved to the shelves behind him, retrieving a white metal box from the middle one. "If you want any ibuprofen, or if you, Simon, want to clean up that... biking injury of yours, you can help yourself."

"Of course." Nodding, Simon bent down and began repacking the backpack that Sofia had completely taken apart. "Oh..! But, Ranger, before you depart: would you happen to have a scissors on you? There's a few coupons in here I'd like to cut out, to stock up on snacks for our journey home. Whenever that may be."

This was the test. Just how much did the ranger suspect Simon of being any sort of threat.

Enough to hesitate, momentarily staring at Simon in that intrigued sort of way—that, again, Simon was hiding something in every word, every action. But not enough to keep from sliding his desk drawer open and retrieving a pair of scissors out, and passing it to Simon.

Simon thanked him with a weak smile and two sharp, testing snips before setting the scissors aside on what had been Sofia's chair.

Sofia, bless her, continued her efforts. "Do you need the hotel's address, or—"

"Sofia, please; he said he'll bring you the necessary items upon his return. Between a corpse in the lake and your monthlies, only one can be attended to right now, and I believe we know which carries more urgency." Simon was already formulating how to counteract this latest obstacle, and it required having the ranger leave as soon as possible.

"And I'll be back soon, okay?" Parker turned, smiling at Sofia. The smile faltered when his gaze slid to Simon, and that was enough for Simon to know: ever so certain Simon had been lying to him, Parker was returning the favor.

* * *

As soon as the door shut, Simon moved to the first-aid kit and popped it open, finding antiseptic alcohol and a small bag of cotton balls. He had little faith he'd receive any sort of treatment after this—if anything, he'd incur __more__ injuries, depending on how the officers decided to handle him once his true identity was discovered.

With no mirror available, he began treating himself the best he could, dabbing the cotton balls first with antiseptic and then his wound. But Sofia stepped in, directed him to sit back down while she stood before him. "Here, let me. You're a freaking mess."

"I... thank you."

Sofia went through one cotton ball, and as she started wiping with a second, she told him, "I didn't really get my period, y'know. I was just trying to—"

"I know," Simon said, his words ending with a hiss thanks to the sting from the antiseptic doing its job. "I know what you were trying to do. Which was rather clever, even if it did not yield the results you were hoping for. But this is out of your hands."

Sofia dug out a band-aid from the kit. It wasn't suited for anything other than a finger, but it would have to make do. She peeled it free and adhered it to Simon's brow. "We could make a break for it now, you and me."

"No. We shall wait. This is not about __you and me__ , the both of us. It is not about me at all, except for my purpose, which I refuse to be taken from. That is, both my immediate and long-term one."

"What the fuck are you talking about, a __purpose__? You're so weird, you know. You make it sound like you're a knight or something."

Could he tell her? No. Until his dying day, he would not allow even the tiniest speck of doubt to enter anyone's mind, even his own. What he __could__ admit to her was, "In a sense, I suppose I am. I have a duty. To someone."

"To Detective Fulbright?" She said it a manner that suggested, unsurprisingly, something intimate.

" _ _No__ , not him. Some things are more important than our own lives, our own well-being. Right now, you are of such import to me. And besides, even if we wanted to..."

Simon stood, moving to the closed door. Grabbing the knob, he made a show of it being locked, as he knew it would be.

"We're __locked in__?! Why?! What did you tell them!"

"While you were in the restroom orchestrating your little production, I shared the same information with the ranger that you did. But it was all in how I said it. He believes I am hiding something. Which, I suppose I am, just not what he thinks. I told them where Fulbright's car is, in not so many words. Upon discovering it, they will be made aware of both his presence, and of who I __really__ am."

Sofia was beside herself now, frantic. "But then they'll... they'll think __you__ had something to do with that cop's murder! You'll be in even more trouble and—"

She ranted on, entirely about the punishment awaiting Simon, and it was with this that something ignited within him. He hadn't been able to say exactly what it was that bothered him so much about Sofia's, but now he could pinpoint it, and he would have taken the time to arrange his words if she hadn't screamed in frustration and kicked the backpack so hard that it went skidding across the office.

"Be quiet, Sofia!" He stood, stabilizing her by the arms and lowering her to the chair, trading places with her. This was so difficult; for as unnerved and incredibly fatigued as he was... it was not her fault, and he needed to remember that, act accordingly. Remain sound of mind and heart, like a true samurai.

She was trapped, acting out because she knew no other way. She had scented freedom for but a moment and could not understand what to __do__ with it.

Once Simon felt it permissable to leave her side, he did so, and found the coffee pot still a quarter filled with warm water. He fixed her a packet of the instant apple cider she had so enjoyed and delivered it to her, which she took without looking at him. Picking up the scissors on the chair that had once been hers, Simon slipped them against into the waistband of his slacks, then seated himself beside her.

"Listen, I am not angry with you. It makes sense to me what you are doing, but have you any idea how much time we've wasted— _ _you've__ wasted—because you outright refuse to allow Fool Bright and myself to take charge in this?"

"What..." She swallowed some cider. "What do you mean, 'what I am doing'?"

Simon rubbed at his face, knowing how terribly exasperated he sounded, and not caring. "This is what should have happened, Sofia: you should have alerted the ranger, yes, but that I had kidnapped you during our stay at the motel, and made off in Fool Bright's cruiser. At which point everything would have been revealed; the motel's existence, my... __status__ , Detective Fulbright's presence and whereabouts... and __then__ you could have informed them of the body in the lake, while they questioned you about __that__. The only reason for you to act out this whole performance is because you do not wish for them to think you had prior knowledge of the body being there. That you are not, in fact, an accessory to murder."

There was a silence as Sofia eyed the fleece blanket she had discarded earlier, and Simon got up to grab it for her. She enrobed herself in it as if she were a spring roll, and then finally spoke again, more towards the cider than Simon. "I was only trying... it's the only way they might be lenient with me. I mean, if they know I had to do with dumping the body here, it's over for me."

"That is not true. You hadn't a choice in the matter but to cooperate with your uncle, for your own self-preservation. Didn't you tell Fool Bright anything of it?"

He realized too late how he'd been using his nickname for Fool Bright. Sofia must have noted it too, exhaling a laugh through her nose. "Yeah, I... I told him about it, when we were in the basement. And he said I should... well, what you suggested, more or less. That I should be truthful about what happened that night, but I... I __want__ to trust him, right, but I don't... I don't think he can help me, so why should I, you know? It's just he..."

"What?"

Sofia snuggled deeper into the blanket. "He said that he won't give up. On me."

Damn Fool Bright! While Simon had grown used to his optimism, one unfamiliar with him—meeting him for the first time even—they would be rightfully confused and perhaps even frightened. Simon certainly had been, once upon a time. "Right, well, Fool Bright loves to spout such feel-good bromides, and I apologize if—"

"No. No one's ever said that to me, Mr. Simon. And meant it, anyway. It was nice, and... you're lucky." If she hadn't taken another sip of her cider, a cheeky smirk would have played at her lips, he knew. "To be allied with him, I mean."

Simon ignored her remark, choosing instead to stuff his mouth with a fist full of craisins. "Yes, anyway, he... will do his best to ensure you are not treated as a criminal. You are the victim in all this, and you being coerced into disposing of that body is just an extension of it."

"But I... that's not all I helped with. I mean, I led the cop to his death; it's my f-fault and..."

"Sofia..." Simon gently placed an arm around her, although did not pull her towards him. She sniffled wetly, and that's when he knew—whatever the horrid memory of that event, it was what she'd drawn from earlier, to fuel her wave of tears when speaking with the ranger.

"This is why I did... __all this__ , Mr. Simon. Wasted time, like you said. I didn't want to be separated from you... if I had told them, they would have taken you away, and I'd never see you again. And maybe it was one of those subconscious thingies, like I've been dying to tell someone what all went down that night, and... y'know?" She looked up at him, this __pleading__ way that begged for him to answer.

"Yes, I understand. You said you told Fool Bright some of it?"

"Some, but not all; I didn't have the time and I... I mean, if I had gone into it all, I don't know if I'd been able to move, to run to his car and..." She shook her cup, watched the small splash of cider remaining swish around. "I... do you think about it, at all? When you... when you killed your mentor. Do you replay it over and over in your head, and think about how they woke up that morning not knowing they would be dead in a few hours? __Killed__."

It was a simple answer, one that encompassed the entirety of the truth behind it. "I do."

"Yeah, that's... that's what I think about, a lot, with that cop." Sofia set the cup on the floor in front of her, trading it for the backpack and lifting it into her blanketed lap. She hugged it close. "Remember I told you about our biology class coming here? It all happened that night."

"Sofia, you don't __have__ to tell me, if it's too much of a strain on you emotionally."

"No, it's okay. This is like, practice, right?"

Simon nodded. "I... yes, I suppose."

"Okay, so, it was almost the same as you and Detective Fulbright. This cop stopped by the motel, kind of late. I was in the front office with __Tío__ when he checked in."

"This officer... He didn't try to solicit your services?"

"No." Sofia shook her head. "No, he didn't, I don't think he was even aware. Anyway, he paid with a card. Or, he was gonna, but—"

She stopped abruptly, pressing her lips together. Her arms tensed around the backpack.

"You're doing fine, Sofia. Really, you are." Simon wished there was more he could do to comfort her, but he'd have to make do by keeping his voice calm, __kind__. "Why did he not pay with a card? Just focus on telling me that."

"That... I can look back now, and I know... that was the moment __Tío__ decided he'd have to kill him. When he was about to run the cop's card, he noticed the shirt he was wearing."

"His shirt?" Simon repeated.

"Yeah, his shirt had something about PAL, you know, that Police Athletic League program? So __Tío__ struck up a conversation with him about it, just like, some bullshit about how he has a son involved in it. And that's how he—we, I was there too—learned he was a cop, with the New Mexico state police. He was heading over to the lake for a weekend camping and fishing with some ex-military buddies, he said."

"So, obviously he wasn't there to investigate in any manner, if he spoke so openly about being an officer."

"No, duh, just like you and Detective Fulbright. But __Tío__ is so paranoid about that kind of shit. He made up some excuse about the system being down and simply wrote the cop's card number down, said he'd charge him in a couple days or two once it was fixed. You know, so his last known whereabouts couldn't be traced."

Simon could only guess how many other hotels, inns, motels, closer to the lake, had been checked, for any sign of this missing officer.

"Might I ask... surely before this officer, other ones have come and gone, as guests. Are you... your uncle did not react in the same manner, I would hope."

"No, it's my fault though, 'cause... like..." There was that vibration in Sofia's voice again, sobs trying to fight their way up. "So, my biology teacher, she's my favorite, y'know, I had her last year too. And, the first week of classes, she asked me if something was wrong. I guess, I don't know, I seemed different somehow, compared to last year. I... All I told her was that I'd gone through some personal shit, over the summer. I couldn't... I can't... be specific. But it was fucking stupid of me, because she had this like, mini parent-teacher conference sort of thing with my uncle."

Oh... Simon could predict where this was going, but he didn't even have to prompt Sofia at this point.

"And like, one glance at her desk, you know she's really openly supportive of the police, 'cause her wife's an officer, and like... I know she was just worried about me, she had no fucking clue what's going on, not really. But it put __Tío__ on edge, even worse, and..."

"It is not your fault, Sofia. Not in any sense of the word."

"Yeah it is. And I think... you know, when you guys came along... I think if it'd just been Detective Fulbright, by himself, then... when my uncle told him about how he could stop by the office to buy anything he might need, like a toothbrush or gas or whatever—that's the same thing he told the cop. Lieutenant Gallardo, that's his name."

Simon couldn't speak. Couldn't reconcile the fact that Fool Bright had come not to death's doorstep, but perhaps its front porch—closer than even Simon himself had been, all this time. And it was all because of wanting to do something entirely selfless and considerate. Fool Bright, he had to know, to some extent; Sofia must have told him this very same tale.

"So he..." Sofia paused, her eyes glassy and distant; Simon could almost see the memory rushing back to her, and then the words came pouring out. "He did, he came over to the office, and I was there, and I did what __Tío__ had told me to do. That whatever he asked for, I was to tell him that it was in the back room, on a high shelf, and I needed his help to get it down, and... so... he did, he came by and asked to buy some toothpaste, and followed me and... __Tío__ was there, waiting, came up beside him and..."

Her quaking hand, molded into the shape of a gun, rose and fixed at an angle at the base of her skull. She cocked a finger, like pulling the trigger, and the floodgates opened as she started bawling. "I hear it all the time, the gunshot. I swear. And the blood, it was everywhere, all over me. I still feel like it's on me s-sometimes... it's my fault, I shouldn't have..."

"Sofia..." Simon started, but she probably didn't even hear him, for how deeply she sobbed.

"He was really... he seemed really nice. Like Ranger Parker, or Detective Fulbright." Sofia brought a piece of the blanket to her face, wiped at all the snot and tears now covering it. "I can't get it out of my head, Mr. Simon. I-I... I never thought __Tío__ would go that far, like I'd seen him shake down other clients who didn't pay up or... he'd never killed anyone, at least that I knew of, but he's never... I mean, it's my fault, that he became so freaked out, thinking we're being investigated—I told you, I've __tried__ to get out and I can't, I can't, because look what happened. One afternoon I was collecting soil samples for biology class... later that night I was helping my uncle dump a body, with the guy's blood still wet on my shirt, and... and... " Whatever she said next was drowned by her crying.

His hand on her shoulder nor his words, he knew, were remotely comforting or helpful. But it was what suddenly made sense to him now, to ask, "The key. You planted it there, did you not?"

"Mm... hm... I wasn't... I wasn't sure if someone else would find the body first, and... so I wanted something to tie it to the motel, __something__. It was the only thing I could think of, that I had on me."

"Smart girl, you are." Simon rubbed her shoulder gently.

"And I...I saved his wallet, his badge, before __Tío__ dumped him in to the lake. I told Detective Fulbright where I hid it. In room ten, next to yours. It's in the front cover of the Bible there. No one ever takes the double rooms, and even less people who stay at the motel are gonna be reading a Bible..." She glanced up at Simon, and he supposed he could, in this instance, tolerate her making such an insinuating comment.

"You thought well."

"For once, right?"

"No, no. Stop. You were very limited in what you could or could not do up until today. And even now..."

"I'm screwed? I either get accused of helping __Tío__ murder that officer, or I don't, and get shipped back to Mexico instead."

"No," Simon sighed. "I... this isn't exactly the sort of predicament that has an __easy__ solution, one way or the other, you understand? It's not as black and white as all that. These possible outcomes will not come to pass overnight."

"So what do I __do__? Just tell them the truth?"

"I don't know, Sofia. Bear in mind that Fool Bright did record the bulk of our conversation in the room, and... the likelihood is high, that normally he would find himself in some sort of trouble for __how__ he obtained it, but... oh, I don't know. Considering that doing so eventually uncovered the murder of another police officer, he may very well be off the hook for such unorthodox methods. You may, too. I can't promise, but... I think the chance is there, at least. So yes, telling the truth in all this would be the best I can advise you of."

Hah, __oh__ , as if it were that simple as all that. The truth setting one free was, ironically, one of the biggest lies he'd ever encountered. It would liberate him from his chains, from his endless trauma and anguish and only take Athena in its place. And for Sofia, the truth might finally bring her uncle to justice for his actions, but only end in having her trade one prison for another.

"Okay... but... if I do that, then I'll have to tell them about you coming to __see__ me."

"Right. I've one request from you, and that is all: Please make clear that I had no intention, whatsoever, of being __involved__ with you. It's a given that you'll be examined with a rape kit, which will reveal a great deal, including the fact that we __weren't__ intimate. But all the same, I..."

"You have morals. I mean, for a murderer, right?"

"Yes." Something in that vein, anyway. "It's as I told you earlier, I have a duty to fulfill. A charge such as... __that__ would interfere, in many ways."

"Should I just tell them you like dick?"

"Do not!" Gods, what need did he have to see Aura after all, with Sofia sufficiently replacing her in many ways.

"I'm kidding. Chill. Maybe I'll just tell them you were pretending to be all nice and shit, about rescuing me, so you could kill me or whatever. I won't tell them you're really like, my guardian angel. My emo goth guardian angel."

Simon hmph-ed, and Sofia slid down in the chair, into the position she'd been in while being questioned by Parker: with her head upon his arm. Only now, her own arms were still holding the backpack, as if it were some sort of stuffed animal. After a minute of silence, save for her quiet breathing, she asked, "I probably won't get to see Detective Fulbright again, will I?"

"No, I don't think you will."

"Can you... tell him I appreciate this? Even though I don't... I don't know what's gonna happen, if it'll ever get better, I..." She paused, seeming to search for the most appropriate description. "I kind of believe him a little more now, thanks to you. And him."

"Believe him? How so?"

"He said that I'm more than what people use me for. That what I'm treated as isn't all I really am; only I get to decide that."

Simon blinked. "Fool Bright said that? Actually... __said__ that?"

"Yeah. Why?" Her question was drawn out by a yawn she made no attempt to stifle. Right, she must have been thoroughly exhausted. She curled tighter, not seeming very interested in Simon's answer, but he gave it anyway.

"No, I... it's nothing. It just... surprises me, I suppose." While Fool Bright lived and breathed to encourage Simon, this was far more... not cynical, exactly, but perhaps solemn? than Simon would expect. The sort of thing coming not from belief, but from experience, that did not match up with the Fool Bright he so adored.

"Oh. Okay." She wiped at her face again, looking up at Simon through red, weary eyes. "And... I appreciate you too, Mr. Simon."

Simon didn't say anything, only reached his available arm across to pat her head.

Within a matter of minutes, she had dozed off. Hopefully, Simon thought, into a land of pleasant dreams and not to a nightmare like the one she would awaken to.

* * *

While Sofia slept, Simon worried.

Rationally, he knew Fool Bright __must__ be alright. Hell, for all Simon knew, Arturo was still unconscious and locked securely to the basement door while Fool Bright waited in their rented room. Likely, he was lounging on the bed after having found his favorite TV station, and was now watching some ridiculous game show or another, begging for "No Whammy!" right along with the contestant.

Or, that was what Simon chose to believe. The alternative was unspeakable.

For as much as he liked to condemn Fool Bright for being stupid enough to be involved with him, and chastised himself for going along, when he should have never fostered it to begin with...

If nothing had unfolded between them, would they be where they were now? Sofia certainly wouldn't be, he could attest to that. And perhaps in his and Fool Bright's place, another officer would have innocently happened along, and met the same undeserved fate as Lieutenant Gallardo.

Just as Simon finished off the bag of craisins (really, why hadn't Fool Bright brought __these__ along to snack on? Far more healthy than licorice, and just as delicious), the front door swung open with a loud __thwump!__

It was Parker, heading a group of other officers, assumably from the state, or the closest mid-sized town. Simon counted four, though no doubt many more were out and about, around the lake and by Fool Bright's cruiser.

Parker was holding a collection of papers, which Simon recognized as the documentation Fool Bright kept on him. The others all had their hands at their hips, at their holsters. Prepared.

"Blackquill." Parker glared at Simon in a way he must have thought to be quite intimidating

Hardly.

Sofia stirred, mumbling in confusion as the backpack hit the floor with a __thud!__ and Simon rid her of her pillow by standing. He greeted the group of officers with a smirk and a short, mocking bow. "At your service."

"I don't know what the hell is going on here, but you're coming with us."

"Oh?" was all Simon said before grabbing Sofia by the arm and bringing her in front of him, a shield. A hostage.

Just as he planned.

Sofia screamed, but wasn't as tense in his grasp as she showed; it must have been from shock, than anything. He __hoped__ so. She understood, she __had to__ , after all they'd been through today, that this was part of the act; that he would never hurt her, would never let any more harm come her way so long as they were in each other's company.

"Blackquill, enough with this shit." Parker said, though didn't dare to step towards him. "You can come with us quietly, or we can do this the hard way."

Simon produced the scissors from where he'd slipped them into his waistband. Flicking them open, one blade was tight in his grip, the other drawn to Sofia's throat.

"Hah, I'd like to see you lot __try__." Simon backed up behind Parker's desk, flat up against the Matches the Moose poster, with no room to dart off to either side. The scissors stayed under Sofia's jaw the whole time. "No, I mean that. For I think I should much __like__ an audience; it will compensate for the lack of one when I clashed with that idiot officer transporting me."

The rangers were visibly thrown by this admission, Simon could see it in their widening eyes, their flinching statures.

"What, you don't believe me? Go and see for yourselves; her uncle, as well, is another who fell victim to the Twisted Samurai. None can escape me." His grip on the scissors' blade strengthened, making it appear as though he had it harder against Sofia's throat. It was just a trick, though, and only accomplished pressing the blade more into his fingers, breaking the skin and spilling a thread of blood.

But that was the entire point—to be more concerned with the __attention__ , the spotlight, as it were. The inflation of his ego that a psychopathic murderer such as himself __thrived__ on.

They wouldn't fire their guns in such a contained area, not with the risk of hitting Sofia. And he knew, they would want to question him about everything that happened leading up to where they were now.

"Simon..." Parker spoke to him, firm but not hostile. "Listen, Simon, don't make this worse. She's just a little girl. She hasn't done you any wrong; you won't get anything out of harming her."

Thick tension followed, Simon staring down the officers. He had to keep them scrabbling for the upper hand. Though they had no true expertise in a hostage situation, Simon could pretend they did—after, of course, allowing them to flounder and remain on edge for a few short moments.

And Sofia... this was goodbye. But he couldn't tell her, demonstrate it, in any proper fashion. Not like this. The most he could do...

He tightened her against his body for a moment, tilting his head down so his mouth was somewhat close to her ear. "Be free," he whispered.

Pushing her away, he released the scissors and let them clatter to the floor. Simon kept his hands raised, the blood streaking down his right one, as the officers descended upon him in a mad rush. He couldn't see Sofia through all the bodies, could only hear her cries for the officers to __stop__! _ ___

But they continued to manhandle him to their liking, and he allowed his body to go limp, unresponsive, as they shoved him out the door.

"Stop it! Don't hurt him!" came Sofia's pleas behind him.

He shut his eyes, blocking out all the external chaos surrounding him. How he yearned to give Sofia one last look, but he couldn't bear for his final image of her to be like __this__. He would only envision her as the plucky young lady that, in another world, could have become his friend, but in this world would—oh she __had to—__ become so much more.

He __had__ to believe that she'd forget about him, about the name __Simon Blackquill__ and the tall, sardonic man it belonged to. Much like he __had__ to assume Athena had also long since rid her mind of him.

And as with Athena, Simon's hope for Sofia was that the only way in which she __would__ remember him came in the form of striving to have what he did not.

A life worth living.


	9. Chapter 9

Two days passed.

Two frustrating, pointless, Fool Bright-less days.

The first day—that is, the afternoon and evening following his capture at the lake—saw Simon receiving medical treatment for his many scrapes and bruises, and more importantly, a concussion test. The one he'd sustained had been mild, its pain magnified by his other injuries, and he was informed that he should be fully recovered from it in a few months.

Most certainly, he confirmed with a mirthless laugh, by the time he was to be executed, correct?

His bitter humor was not well-received. After getting bandaged and cleaned up, he'd also had his cheek swabbed, which led to the immediate decision to, for once in his bloody life, tame his sarcastic tendencies. They couldn't have questioned Sofia already, couldn't have gotten any explanation out of her in this time, but it set him on edge; the idea that he had defiled her had been planted.

He was too tired to be combative with them, and knew from his own short-lived career that his cooperation __could__ benefit him, at least that he might find out about how either Sofia or Fool Bright (or, even, both) were faring. Where he normally would have refused over and over again to answer them with anything other than quips and threats, Simon wondered aloud if he could give a deposition. As neither he nor Fool Bright would be able to take part in a trial, he could give sworn testimony.

The officers agreed, and Simon said a silent vow of thanks, that he was being placed in what had become his element. Perjury, for the greater good of a child's life, was nothing new to him. If he was believed to be capable of murder seven years ago, without a reputation preceding him, this would be a walk in the park.

And so, he told them under oath, it happened thusly:

Fulbright had stopped at the motel for the evening, too exhausted and too overwhelmed by the heavy rain to continue. Once he'd dozed off, Simon slipped out, ready to take off into the night. But he'd grown aware of the insidious acts that were commonplace at the motel and devised a solution, both for Sofia and for his own unquenchable lust for blood.

He would temporarily cooperate with Fulbright, say all the right words to convince Sofia to leave with him. Oh, and by the by, Fulbright's recording would verify all this, if they wanted to give that a listen.

(Simon had hoped this would entice the officers into admitting, even in an oblique way, Fool Bright's condition. But they said nothing, only, "Yes? And...?')

After that, Simon had escaped, though not without a struggle. Sofia had been, he told them, quite enamored with him, and aided him. However, her silly teenage infatuation was in no way reciprocated. Simon had no designs on engaging in any sort of physical or sexual interaction with her—it was her __life__ he was after. Her wish to stop at the lake, the campgrounds, was something he'd eagerly complied to, knowing he would not find a better location to dispose of her body once he slit her open and drained her of her life.

She would no longer suffer, would no longer find herself in a living Hell. Simon would have saved her, in the only way she could be saved, now.

He would have sated his thirst if not for his weakened, injured state, and if not for Sofia managing to find Ranger Parker's office before Simon had successfully lured her to a more secluded area.

By the time he'd finished spinning his tale and was transported to a holding cell in the city of Flagstaff, the next morning had dawned. Despite his best efforts—continuing to speak about his intentions to kill Sofia, of the pride he took in escaping from Fool Bright—he could not unearth any new information about them from the officers.

But, Simon supposed, if Fool Bright were grievously injured, he'd be facing some sort of interrogation about __that__ , by now. If anything, he thought as he was shoved into his dark cell, the __burden__ he was on these officers told him that Fool Bright must have been rescued, had spoken with those heading this investigation. And obviously, his recount of the previous day would be taken with far more credence, to the point Simon's testimony might be thrown out altogether.

Such a possibility supplied Simon with enough calm to sink onto his cot, to lay down and, in relative terms, relax.

* * *

But not to sleep.

Sleep had never been easy, but now it was impossible, and the second day dragged on because of it. Time was marked only by the meals brought to Simon, that he let lay untouched beside his cot.

He had no appetite, and even if he did, he didn't think he could force himself to perform the actions of picking the plate up, of eating. It was too difficult, his thoughts crowded with the knowledge of having missed the funeral and the deep, twisting ache of miss _ _ing__ Fool Bright.

Amid all of this was a different sort of pain, born out of not knowing Sofia's fate. All he could ask for was that she was faring better; at the very least, that she had been given __answers__ , that she had been finally able to awaken this morning without "Why?" being the first thing to enter her young mind.

Simon, on the other hand, was determined to starve himself to death, if the alternative was leaving here without Fool Bright. The remaining year of his life, once so brief, now felt interminably long, and how would he accomplish anything towards pursuing the truth behind UR-1, without Fool Bright? If he could somehow waste away here, he'd only be fulfilling his purpose sooner than intended, which should be applauded. Plus, he'd have aided another helpless child in the process.

This was not to be, as the iron door scraped open, and with it came the solid footsteps of an approaching guard. It must be lunch time, and the beginning of day three.

A new, old noise, a __thap!__ , and then the almost inaudible skitter of his lunch plate being placed on the floor broke him from his reflection. He shifted his body, turning to find a female guard, just as sour and disgruntled as her male counterparts, holding a sandwich out to him as if he were some mutt.

"Eat. And get dressed," she told him, shaking the sandwich at him once again.

He blinked wordlessly at the second part of her instruction, then followed the sound of her lightly kicking what she'd dropped down beside her.

A duffel bag.

Fool Bright's duffel bag.

* * *

Simon had torn the sandwich from the guard, not even examined its contents before scarfing it down in a few bites, and in doing so, was filled with great distress at the realization he'd consumed poultry—chicken cold cuts—for the first time in many years. He'd spat out what he could, his disgust temporary as such a display had spurred the guard to leave more ably than any of his threats would have.

Now he stood alone in the cell, buttoning a gabardine vest over the crisp black dress shirt he'd found nights before. It wasn't a quick process, not with his upper body still so sore, but knowing Fool Bright must be nearby made it bearable. The tie and belt were missing, and whether this was precautionary on the guards' part or a command issued by Fool Bright, Simon wasn't sure, but nor did he care. It was just __nice__ to wear something fresh, clean. New.

He reached to the bandage at his brow, the new one that'd been applied when he'd been checked over, and ripped it off. His fringe would hide it for the most part, and if it didn't... well, if Fool Bright were to carefully apply a new one, Simon wouldn't protest. Too much.

After several minutes during which he wondered if this was all a grand trick, he was escorted in cuffs by two different guards, from his cell to the mid-sized foyer.

Efficiently and none-too-gently, the handcuffs were removed, so as to be replaced with (he never thought he'd be so thrilled to see them again) __his__ iron manacles.

His focus on them was so intent, as the guards worked and locked them, that he didn't look up until they parted...

And the door to the outside was closed, that Simon did not know the weather, but suddenly he was awash with the same warmth and comfort that came only from basking in the sun's rays...

"Good afternoon, Sir!"

"Fool Bright..." As often as Simon had called his detective that, it felt so much better than any of those hundreds of times before. Perhaps it was the smile lifting his mouth as he did.

* * *

Simon couldn't take his eyes off of Fool Bright as they departed the prison.

But it was not from the relief of having him back. Nor from the way Fool Bright's midnight blue dress shirt was untucked and unbuttoned with the sleeves folded up to just below his elbows, showing his arms—the strong arms that Simon wanted to __hold__ him. It was all due to the tee layered beneath.

A familiar, vibrant sky blue, screen-printed with an equally familiar antlered mascot.

This was all, somehow, the least interesting attribute of Fool Bright's appearance, as his left arm was supported in a simplistic sling. His right shoulder, meanwhile, carried the duffel bag.

The backpack had also been returned. Even with Simon's chains, it was easy to carry in his arms, and its weight felt the same as it had previously—nothing inside of it had been important enough to retain as evidence. Thankfully, since he still had approximately forty pages of __Sailor Scouts__ awaiting him.

Simon walked with Fool Bright across the small, sequestered lot and to its furthest corner. There was no exit or entrance; the lot was bordered entirely by a chain-link fence that was more than twice Simon's height and topped with barbed wire. The only way out of the lot that wasn't through the building proper were the narrow alleyways on either side of the building, that must have led to the front.

Strangely, what awaited them was not Fool Bright's cruiser, but a wooden picnic table and large oak tree on the lot's edge. Simon guessed this might be where the employees spent their lunch hours, or smoke breaks, since a trash can and cigarette outpost stood alongside the picnic table.

Fool Bright set the duffel bag on one of the table's benches, then lowered onto the other one, leaving room for Simon to join him. Simon didn't, only tossed his backpack aside of Fool Bright's bag, and stared down at him.

He fought the urge to reach at Fool Bright's dress shirt, to straighten and smooth it where it'd plainly been thrown on by someone without full operation of both arms. Perhaps while he was at it, he could button the shirt up, to conceal Matches and his giant, smiling snout.

Fool Bright's aviators dangled from the collar of his tee, and he retrieved them, slid them on smoothly. He sat there, head tilted back and looking up at the sky, as Simon watched, __waited__ , for him to... __be__ Fool Bright. To begin chatting about some inane topic or another, like the weather or the friendship he'd obviously struck up with Ranger Parker, in order to obtain his new tee shirt.

Finally, Simon couldn't bear it. He sat beside Fool Bright, closer than he would have if there wasn't a smattering of cars and vans in the lot, obstructing them from the view of anyone in prison.

"You can't __possibly__ be driving back," Simon said, giving up hope that Fool Bright would strike up conversation.

Fool Bright's smile was delayed, and when he spoke, it sounded... not without conscious effort. "Oh, no, of course not, Sir! Not with the painkillers I'm on. Haha, 'no operating motor vehicles or heavy machinery'! My cruiser needs a check-up anyway; she's had a rough couple days. But never fear, our ride will be here soon!"

Oh, hell. If someone else was to transport them back to Los Angeles, they'd never get the chance to have a private discussion about recent events. Simon had to know, and he had to know __now.__

"Then, tell me, __please__ : What's to become of Sofia?"

Fool Bright glanced at Simon, indicating he'd heard him. But he didn't answer. That, in and of itself, spoke volumes. At last, Fool Bright pushed up his aviators, a signal to Simon that what would follow was of grave importance.

"Sir, I... I can't give you a definitive answer. I don't—"

"Don't say you don't know, Fool Bright! That is not acceptable!"

"Simon..." Fool Bright looked tired, more so than any pain-killers would influence; Simon guessed he hadn't gotten much sleep either the past couple days, though for different reasons. "Do you want me to tell you that it's all gonna be okay for her? That because we stepped in and er, __saved__ her, that everything's all better now? It doesn't work that way!"

"No, of course not, but I... well, you've spoken at length with them about our involvement, yes? They seemed rather satisfied with what I told them, so I am to assume our testimony coincided. So you must have some knowledge, more than I certainly do, of what fate has in store for Sofia, as well as her villain of an uncle."

Fool Bright drew in a deep breath, and oh, did Simon know Fool Bright could ramble on quite incessantly, but never like this.

First and foremost, Arturo was in custody, was facing a litany of charges: capital murder, aggravated assault of an officer, solicitation of a minor, to name a few. And the clients he'd serviced over what had been close to three years of torture for Sofia were being traced down as they spoke.

"But I'm not?" Simon asked. "There's no way testing could have been completed, to determine whether she and I, er... interacted sexually, but I would think I would still be under suspicion. I gave them __my__ word that I hadn't engaged with her, but that does not necessarily mean..."

"Right, and yeah, she obviously showed signs of abuse, had traces on her. And she named about a dozen different men, or at least their aliases, who had been with her... but she was also incredibly adamant about you not having anything to do with her, sexually."

"Adamant? In what sense?"

"Well, the first thing you said to her when she tried to advance on you was that you were... __uninterested__ in any kind of women, of any age. And that you announced it was—er, not a sting, you know, I hate saying that because it was so poorly thought out, but... your intentions. To get her out."

What in the bleeding hell? "But they can't __prove__..." Bother, he hated talking about this. "I...well, there's no way to __confirm__ any of that!"

"Oh, not to worry, it's more or less what __I__ told them, too!"

"You __what__?!"

Fool Bright laughed quietly. Simon did not see what was remotely funny.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Can you... calm down a bit? I meant, that we planned it out before you requested to see her—what you'd say, recording what we could, and all that. And, why would I have let you be part of it, if I'd had even the slightest suspicion you might harm her in any way? Especially since it was __your__ idea to go and save her. I think that went a long way into them realizing that, really, you didn't do anything wrong—even if you tried every way possible to make it look like you had."

Blast it all! This is what Fool Bright wanted, for Simon to be seen as the noble warrior he himself knew he was. This was even, occasionally (although he would not admit to it), what Simon wanted. But what he wanted did not matter, not if he were to uphold his honor. He must fight it.

"It... it was __your__ idea! I was only—!"

Fool Bright yammered on over him, and Simon was unsurprised that even such potent pain-killers were little match for his spirit where justice was concerned.

"... and hey, if you think about it, you saved my life. And Sofia's, too, in many ways—not that they care as much about hers. And I told them, how you've progressed in leaps and bounds in your rehabilitation, and that's why I trusted you to take her to safety, and since I ordered you to take the cruiser, you didn't really 'escape'. I don't even think you're going to face much punishment once we get back; you might even be commended!"

 _ _Commended__. Simon could feel his head spinning, and it wasn't from lack of sleep or sustenance.

"No, why would you allow them to think any of this?! The devil take you, Fool Bright! I am not a... a..."

"A good person," Fool Bright said, not __asked__ , as if it reading from gospel.

"You know I am not!" Who was more dim-witted; Fool Bright, for so openly endorsing him, or he, himself, for giving Fool Bright reason to? "Sofia is still... she is in no better circumstances, as you said. So, no, I did nothing. I only... it was all an elaborate scheme! I... wanted nothing more than to escape with her and spill more blood!"

"Simon." It was the second time Fool Bright had addressed Simon by his name in the past several minutes, and it instantly killed any resolve to keep arguing. "Just stop, alright? You're a champion of justice, and that's not something someone can __learn__ through any amount of rehabilitation. It's just something they are, innately. Like you are, and like you always have been."

Simon knew to what Fool Bright was referring: his constant insistence of Simon's innocence in UR-1. Even though he never stated it outright, it was through comments like this, more and more frequent as their relationship had flourished.

And Simon responded in his usual way: changing the subject entirely.

"So where is Sofia now? Perhaps you should cease wasting time speaking on all this other rubbish, and tell me what I asked you about in the first place."

"Well..." Fool Bright started, not hesitant, more just preparing himself. "So that officer her uncle killed—his family, of course, was notified. They came out to Flagstaff, from New Mexico, to... verify. It's never easy, Sir. I wasn't even the one who told them. Why, I only heard about it, and it's not... oh, it's awful, they're always so hopeful, even if they say they aren't! And you have to crush it, no matter how gentle you are about it. And especially when it's a fellow officer, I—"

"Yes, yes, I understand, Fool Bright. You are upset; this is no great revelation, your propensity to feel such strong emotions. Get on with it."

"I am, Sir! Now... see, it turns out Lieutenant Gallardo... he left behind a wife and two kids. A son and daughter. The son just went off to college and the daughter is Sofia's age, just turned fourteen."

"Oh?"

Fool Bright went on, just as emotive as he'd been, and Simon found himself utterly enraptured; this was even more gripping than his unfinished volume of __Sailor Scouts__.

Sofia would have to stay in the U.S. for some time, for the trials of all her rapists, as well as that of her uncle. And the widow Gallardo wouldn't hear of Sofia staying anywhere but with her and her daughter. In Sofia, she saw the same lost little girl that Fool Bright and Simon had, but unlike Fool Bright and Simon, had the means to tend to the wounds beneath the surface, and give her a mother's love and nurturing. She refused to let the fire within Sofia be snuffed out, for her husband's death to be a random act of violence, to end up nothing but a conduit to yet another teenager falling between the cracks.

"She knows it's not Sofia's fault, none of it," Fool Bright said. "She doesn't blame her for any of it; actually, she's a pediatrician, herself. So she's unfortunately seen this before, you know, not to this extent, and certainly not this up close and personal, but..."

"Right, I... oh, Fool Bright..." Simon wished the niggling sensation in his chest would settle, that he didn't have to pose the question, "Why is this in no way satisfying?"

"We did as much as we were able to, Sir. Justice isn't something that suddenly __happens__ because you decide to do the right thing. Or simply because you're a good person. There's lot of other factors. That's why it's so important to me—because it affects, and is affected by, everyone involved."

"While I agree, that does not answer my question."

"No, I know it doesn't. There isn't an answer to it, I'm afraid. But, I think it's... you know, sometimes having the answers isn't what matters most. I only meant that... we—you and me and Mrs. Gallardo and Ranger Parker—gave Sofia something more important."

Simon wasn't sure he could tell Fool Bright and Matches the Moose apart from one another, with how wide his detective's grin was.

"Bah, next you will say it's 'moment like these that make you proud to be an officer', or some other such bunkum."

"Oh, but you're right, Sir! It __is__ this kind of stuff—not what led up to it, of course, but just... being able to help, in some way, that does make me proud to be a cop. And I know it's why you're looking forward to prosecuting again, isn't it? Because I... God, you know, when you came to me, told me how Sofia __needed__ us—Simon, I've never... I've never seen you quite like that, and... I never felt so..."

"Fool Bright, your words are the equivalent of an entire bag of licorice. Saccharine to the point of... of..." Simon parted his mouth, faked as though he might vomit.

Taking it all with a laugh, Fool Bright responded with, "Then you'd better get used to it, Sir, because when you __do__ get to officially prosecute again, it'll be a lot like this! With a detective at your side, praising your sense of justice and—"

"' _ _A__ detective'?"

Fool Bright must have heard the worry prevalent in Simon's question, because he answered forthwith.

"Well, me, of course! Who did you think I meant?"

Simon avoided looking at Fool Bright and his inquisitive stare, quickly turning his attention to the warped wood of the picnic table.

"I... I don't know. I thought you might be implying you would request to move on to another inmate who needed rehabilitation, or to... I don't know, Fool Bright, I just..."

"Sir, after all we've been through—this, and looking into UR-one, and working to get your badge back, and... you know, __everything else—__ I don't know what I'd do without you." Hurriedly, Fool Bright added, "At work, or anywhere else."

He __knew__ what Fool Bright meant, a sort of romantic sentiment, but the truth of his inevitable fate was too much to bother ignoring. One day, it would come to pass, and Simon had to admit, "I don't know what you'll do without me either, Fool Bright."

There it was again, Fool Bright's hand warm and firm on Simon's leg, and the air around them filled with nothing but the breeze rustling the oak leaves above. The soft rhythm of Fool Bright's thumb at the side of knee, and Simon found himself sinking closer, the yen to kiss him overwhelming. Especially so now that he'd been illuminated to the possibility of suddenly and unforgivingly not being able to again.

The space between them had not closed enough for him to fulfill this desire, but it was still far closer than they should be, professionally speaking. He could see Fool Bright's shifting gaze, monitoring their surroundings.

"Sir, you need to..." Fool Bright moved his hand to Simon's arm as a means to push him back straight, but Simon braced his shoulders, resisting. He knew they were alone and could not predict when they would be again, especially if Fool Bright had to take a short medical leave—or worse, was dealt consequences of some type.

Dipping his head a little lower, Simon's mouth was tilted towards Fool Bright's neck, lips brushing his shirt collar as he spoke, low but clear.

"I know you're always nattering on about how I should, more than anything, hold justice in the highest esteem, but... oh, Fool Bright, I would hate even justice if it took you from me." Somewhere during his pathetic admission, Fool Bright's good arm had come to circle him securely.

"It's okay, Sir. It didn't!" He rubbed small, soothing patterns around Simon's back. "I know how badly you want to follow through on all your threats to me; I wouldn't disappoint you by just up and dying in the line of duty."

"Silence. I forbid you to make such fallacious declarations." Simon paused to lift his head, and his voice quieted even more. "...You could never disappoint me."

He wished that weren't the truest part of his statement, but it'd been revealed to him just how fragile this partnership between them was. Of course, he'd known it for quite some time, how very real a concept loss was. But for him, all he'd ever entertained was the prospect of Fool Bright coping with losing him, as an assignment, as part of—as he'd described to Sofia—their alliance, whatever that was.

Not the other way around, that he might lose his Fool Bright.

Simon straightened up, knowing for once that he was the more foolish between the two of them, with this display, even with it being no longer than half a minute.

But, Simon also supposed, he'd succumbed to allowing himself to be yoked together with foolishness when they had kissed for the first time. At no point in the past seven years had there been any turning back, and neither could there be with Fool Bright.

* * *

When Simon asked if they'd be here much longer, Fool Bright promised it'd be no more than another half-hour, and dug __Sailor Scouts__ out from the backpack.

Though anxious to finish, Simon had also something else he hoped to speak with Fool Bright about. But Fool Bright seemed rather engrossed with his phone, sending off text messages, assumably to fellow LAPD members, who, by this point, had learned of their escapades with Sofia at the motel. So, as much as he tried to find an opening wherein to begin a new conversation, about the questions Fool Bright had unintentionally raised over the past few days, he quickly realized it to be an impossibility, and went back to his manga.

Just as Simon found himself on the final page of __Sailor Scouts__ , the buzz of Fool Bright's phone distracted him. Fool Bright stood, and began to pace about the grass behind the picnic table as he spoke with whoever was on the other end.

"Oh, that's great, good to hear it! Yeah, we're in the rear lot. Just drive around, you can't miss us! See you in a bit, in justice we—! What? __No__ , I will not! I—"

They must have hung up, because Fool Bright blinked, stared at his phone.

"Who was that?" Simon asked.

"Our ride. They're just having their vehicle and person checked over, have to fill out some paperwork. In a couple of minutes, we'll be on the road again! You're done, Sir?" Fool Bright reached for the manga.

"Yes." Simon nodded, his heart still pounding from such a cliffhanger of an ending, and Fool Bright stored it away into the backpack. "And who is our ride, another officer? Is the LAPD sending one of your comrades out here to collect us?"

"No, er... Ranger Parker, actually, even offered to drive us back, but that would still mean the LAPD footing the bill, paying for all the gas and his time." Fool Bright did not seem very hesitant or embarrassed, only matter-of-fact as he continued, "And they're not very happy with me."

"How so? Surely they understand the nature of the situation with Sofia, that it was grave enough to require immediate action You were doing your __job__ , Fool Bright."

"No, um... because they found out about me having that backpack for you, in the backseat. With the licorice, and your comics, and... it wasn't approved. I kind of snuck it along, and that's a serious offense. Plus, even if it was approved, it should have been locked in the trunk, with my bag."

Simon blinked up at Fool Bright. He'd hardly expected __that__ for an answer. "You must be jesting. __That__ has them upset?"

"Yup!" Fool Bright said. "I told them, what sort of road trip doesn't have snacks! It would have been completely unjust of me, especially at such a difficult time for you, with your stepmother's death. I was only... I just wanted..."

Simon knew how to finish it. Fool Bright, sentimental clod that he was, had just wanted to make Simon happy. "You knew it was wrong, Fool Bright, and yet you—"

"Wrong? No, it wasn't wrong! It was... against the rules, but I don't think... here, lift your arms, Sir."

Simon did so, wondering for what purpose. Though only able to use his right hand, Fool Bright slipped the key from his khakis pocket, poked it into the manacle around Simon's left wrist, unlocking it. The manacle dangled heavily until Fool Bright grabbed it, lifted it onto the picnic table, and carefully placed his own left wrist into it. He then passed the key to Simon. "You can do the honors."

"What are you—?!"

"Oh, come on." Fool Bright grinned in a way Simon wasn't used to. Was it the medication or was it... was he being __suggestive__? "You haven't thought __once__ about putting me in these?"

Simon took the key and clumsily locked Fool Bright into the shackle. There was no way to stop the heat spreading up his neck. "That is neither here nor there."

"Anyway, no, I don't think of it as wrong, and if they're going to punish me for it, that's fine. You enjoyed yourself, and that was worth it. But this—" he took the key back from Simon, and pocketed it. "—is because I have to keep you from harming the civilian we'll be riding with. We'll be in the backseat, together! Just like you wanted, Sir, haha!"

"Silence!" Simon glowered at Fool Bright. Why, of all the sapskulled fools in the world, was he stuck on the one who could simultaneously arouse and annoy him. "So we're riding with a civilian? That's... unheard of."

"Oh yeah, but... like I said, the PD isn't too thrilled with everything. I mean, you know they think it's a waste of time that I'm trying to rehabilitate you, and others, to begin with. So, they're willing to send an officer here, but only as a last resort. They asked if I knew anyone—who could pass a background check, of course!—in the area, who'd give us a ride back to L.A."

Astounding, and yet not, the lengths the LAPD would go to pinch pennies, especially in these dark days. This reminded Simon of his short time as prosecutor, when he'd visited the police department and been forced to take the stairs up and down every floor because they'd been promoting some sort of "Get Fit" week—when in actuality, the elevators had broken down, and __conveniently__ this week had been put into place without any real notice.

"And there is? You know someone?" Fool Bright may—Simon had no real knowledge of his social circle or extended family, a topic Fool Bright kept rather close to the vest.

"No." Fool Bright was looking beyond Simon, at one of the alleys connecting their lot to the front. "But you do."

There was just enough time for Simon to ask Fool Bright what he could possibly mean when a large, copper-red Subaru came lumbering down the side alley, and screeched to a halt several yards from the picnic table, in no particular parking space.

Simon knew. He __knew__ and yet he did not believe it until the driver's side door opened, and his heart dropped. He was thankful he was already seated, as he fell under an intense gaze and acerbic smile not unlike his own.

Fool Bright greeted her with his trademark salute. "Glad you could make it, Ms. Blackquill!"

"I'm not." Aura strode over to where Simon was still sitting frozen with disbelief. Jerking her head towards the Subaru, she addressed them both, but her impatient glare locked on Simon. "Get in, losers."


End file.
